Something to believe in
by SheyRicci
Summary: Just back from one failed Mandy-sent mission, Bravo isn't much in the mood to immediately depart on another.
1. Chapter 1

So, I'm hunkered in for the weekend in preparation of Maryland's coming 'blizzard'.  
Man, can we panic! MAYBE anywhere from 1 to 5 inches...snort...my friends in Wisconsin keep texting me ha-ha faces...anyway with not much else to do...and _still_ no new Jason Bourne novel to read...

* * *

"Dad? DAD!" Emma stomped into the house. "HEY! Where are you?! I have plans tonight. I'm not changing them, Mikey's old enough to stay home alone! DAD?! Oooooh!" She slammed the door. "DO you HEAR me? I can't believe this! DAD!"

"Where's your grandmother?" Mia asked as she followed Emma into the house. "I didn't even know your Dad was home. Didn't he just leave?"

"Yeah, he did." She reread the text on her phone – again. For the fifth time. The message hadn't changed.

" _Need you to come home and do me a favor tonight, love Dad."_

Like kissy emoji's and happy faces made it okay for her Dad to just ruin her plans.

"DAD!"

"Hey, hey, hey." Jason skidded into the room in socks, boots in his hand. "Hey Mia." he frowned. He hadn't expected Emma to bring anyone home with her. "Pipe down Emma."

"Hello Mr. Hayes." Mia smiled. She should have her Mom come pick her up. Her Mom found Mr. Hayes a mighty fine man indeed, and since Mrs. Hayes had passed away…

"I'm not staying in." Emma stated. "I have plans Dad, we're going out. You're supposed to be…..well, not here. Why are you home anyway?" Her eyes narrowed in on the kitchen island, she bobbed and weaved to see around her father. "That's your first aid kit. Are you hurt? Is that why you're back so soon?" She pushed past him into the kitchen. "These are bandages. That's blood. Dad…" She whirled, phone still in her hand, came back, tried to pat her father down. Gave him a hug, clung a second, started another body search.

He grabbed her shoulders, put a finger to her lips. "I'm not the one who's hurt."

"Mikey?" She whirled, her Dad forgotten, headed for the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "What happened? Hockey practice? Did he cut himself on his skates again? Stitches? How much ice do we have?"

"Mikey's fine." Jason caught and steered his hot-headed daughter back to the kitchen. "Went to the movies with Grandma. I have to go to the base, been called in. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on…."

"Hey Emma." Clay padded into the kitchen wearing jeans and nothing else though he was in the process of pulling a t-shirt over his head. Mia's eyes widened, her jaw dropped. Oh yeah, Emma's plans had just changed.

"What is he doing here?" Emma demanded, phone still in her hand. She saw the bandage on his right side above his hip before the t-shirt settled into place, sighed in defeat. "Ten dollars an hour. I need new shoes."

"Hell Ems, I'll pay your Dad if he'll let me 'keep an eye' on him." Mia muttered, looking Clay up, down, up and half way down. "Hum." She liked what she saw. Yup. MmmmHmmmm. Oh yeah.

"You mean, _more_ shoes." Jason kissed the top of her head, released her. "Deal. Mia, need a ride home? I'll drop you off on my way to work."

Mia hid her disappointment. She'd be thrilled to stay home with Emma on a Friday night if it meant she could help 'keep an eye' on the tousled blonde-haired hunk who Emma didn't seem happy to have in the house.

"Clay, bed." Jason ordered. "Emma, thank you. I owe you."

"You do." She agreed, put her phone down, resigned to staying in. "Sorry Mia, guess I'm in for the night."

Jason moved off to sit down and put on his boots, phone cradled on his shoulder with his chin as he answered a call.

"I don't blame you." Mia breathed, wishing she could stay, but Mr. Hayes' offer of a ride home clearly said she wasn't welcome to remain at the house. That had been the plan when Emma had incorrectly assumed that watching her brother was the favor her Dad wanted. "Jesus Emma, _who_ is that?"

Emma cast a distracted glance at Clay, more interested in why her Dad was home and how soon he might be leaving again then what her Dad's sniper was doing in her kitchen. "He, uh, works with my Dad."

"How old is he?"

Emma frowned, looked again at Clay who was cleaning up the first aid supplies from the island, repacking the kit, collecting trash. He tried to reach over head to open a cupboard door with his right hand, stopped with a wince, switched hands.

"I dunno." She shrugged. "Twenty-five, maybe? Thirty?"

"What is he doing here?" Mia couldn't take her eyes off Clay as he moved around the kitchen. It didn't escape her notice either, that he knew his way around a kitchen that wasn't his. "How often is he here? You've never said a word. You have to invite me over when he is."

Emma shrugged again. Really, like Mia had never seen a man before. "Ever since he...Dad?" She went over to talk to Jason when he hung up. "Is he here all night?"

"He'll sleep in Mikey's room." Jason stood up, put his phone in his back pocket, looked for his keys. "Grandma should be home around ten. You need anything, call Aunt Naima or Miss Janine. You won't be able to reach me."

"He's hurt again?"

Jason gave her pony tail a soft yank. "Uh, banged up a bit." He said evasively. "Let me put him to bed. Hey, I'm sorry about Mia, but I don't think it's a good idea for her to stay."

"No, it's not." Emma agreed. "She can't stop staring at him. I thought you wanted me to stay home with Mikey, so the company would have been nice. Thanks for taking her home."

Jason hesitated, nodded. When he'd brought Clay home, he hadn't expected to be called back to base. The doctor on duty at the clinic on base had sent the kid home on Clay's favored Advil gel-caps and while Jason hoped they were strong enough, Jason doubted it so Clay had permission to take prescription Motrin if he needed it.

"Dad, I know." Emma rolled her eyes. "No Aleve, no salt, no caffeine. What medication did he come with?"

Jason shook a bottle, set it on the counter. "If he can't sleep."

"Dosage?"

"One." Jason said. "I won't be gone..." He paused. He had no idea how long he'd be gone. "One every five hours, but I should be back."

"Are the rest of the guys going to be with you?" Emma asked.

"Yes." Jason snapped his fingers to gain Clay's attention. He was being polite to Mia, answering her questions with a lazy smile. "He's okay, just sore. If he hadn't fallen out of his hammock on the plane, torn some of the stitches, I would have let him go home."

"It's not a problem Dad." Emma assured him. "Just, why isn't he with Janine?" She watched his face, recognized the sheepish look. "Trent doesn't know."

"Trent knows. He set the stitches."

"There's something you haven't told him." She accused.

"Love you." He hugged her, proud of how well she had handled her plans being changed once the reason why had been revealed. His little girl was growing up, had matured so much since her mother had died.

She let it go. "Love you too."

Jason retrieved Clay from Mia, tipped his head to the light by a fist under his chin, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and followed Clay down the hallway to Mikey's room.

"OMG Emma!" Mia squealed, grabbing Emma's hands and dancing. "He's gorgeous! Jesus! He's so hot!"

"Clay?" She went into the kitchen, but Clay had cleaned everything up. She moved the bottle of pills to the top of the fridge, she felt better with it up high, didn't know why. "I suppose so."

To her, Clay was one of her Dad's men, nothing more. Though, if she thought about it, she could see why her friend would find him 'hot'.

"How often do you get to watch him?"

Emma shrugged. "Couple times. He was on crutches with a dislocated elbow. My Dad was mad at Stella..." But she'd never been left alone with him either. Stella had always been there and Emma liked Stella, she did, even if her Dad didn't. She didn't know what had caused the break-up with Clay. All her Dad had told her was, they'd broken up and it wasn't easy on anyone.

She'd lived through a break-up like that with her own parents. The difference was, despite divorcing, her parents hadn't been able to stay away from one another. Didn't matter now.

"Who's Stella?

"Clay's girlfriend."

Mia's face fell. "He has a girlfriend? Of course he does."

Emma didn't correct her friend. Best to let her believe Clay was unavailable. "Sorry about tonight."

"Wish I could stay." Mia said wistfully. "But your Dad's right. My Mom will have a fit with a man in the house and your Dad or grandma not home. Bummer."

"Yeah." Emma gave her a hug. "Call me later, we'll talk." Yeah, sure, that's why her Dad didn't want Mia in the house.

Jason came into the kitchen. "I'll give you a call when I can."

Emma nodded. "You won't have to leave again so soon, will you?"

"Dunno. But probably." Another hug and Jason left with Mia.

() () ()

It was early, not even 7 o'clock and Emma did what most teen-age girls did when stuck home on a Friday night. Interacted with friends on social media, chatted on the phone, had a text conversation with Mia, watched TV.

Her Dad sent a text around 9 o'clock, saying he should be home by midnight; asked if Clay was giving her any trouble; send him a text if he got up; he'd call when he could. She replied all was quiet, Clay slept, drive safe.

Her grandmother called close to ten, said she was taking Mikey and his friends out for milkshakes, where was Emma? Was she having fun? Emma replied she was home, in bed, reading a book. She saw no need to worry her grandmother by telling her she was home because her Dad had asked her to keep an eye on one of his men. That would bring her home, ruining the night for Mikey. And Mikey was moody these days, Emma's graduation was soon and then she'd be leaving for college. Poor kid.

Her door deliberately left open, she heard Clay get up around 10:30. She'd hoped he would sleep, waited to see if he was simply up for the bathroom, but the kitchen lights went on and she heard him in the cupboard, then the metal ting of the first aid kit.

She set her book aside, got out of bed, found her slippers. The first aid kit for scraped knees and pinched fingers was in the bathroom medicine chest. The green metal, Trent-issued first aid kit was kept in the kitchen, so Clay wasn't looking for Band-Aids and aspirin.

"Hey." Emma entered the kitchen. "Everything okay?"

"Didn't mean for you to get up." Clay was wetting a dish rag with cold water. "Sorry."

"It's my job." She smiled. Clay would understand. His boss was her Dad and when Jason Hayes gave someone a job to do, it was done. "Need some help?"

Most people, for whatever reason, tended injuries in the bathroom, but not her Dad. Always the kitchen. Maybe it was a Seal thing because Clay obviously preferred the kitchen as well. Or maybe he was just following orders. Eh, whatever.

"Bleeding a bit." Clay pulled his t-shirt up, pulled the tape from his skin, removed the bloody bandage, held the wet rag against swollen skin and red, angry stitches. Gingerly at first, then steadily, he applied more pressure.

"A bit?" Emma pushed him onto a stool at the island, dug for antiseptic wipes, tore several packages open. "Dad says you bleed easily."

"He gets that from Trent."

"Can't tell me what happened to you, huh?"

"Uh, playing with the dog...I, um, fell." _on a knife,_ was left unsaid. He wondered if she would recognize a wound from a knife when she saw one. Maybe not, but the roll of her eyes told him she didn't believe he'd hurt himself in a mere fall over a dog.

"Cerberus is okay?" She asked, alarmed. "Dad didn't say..."

"Dog's fine." He hissed, tried to twist and wipe the blood from his back. Sure, ask about the dog first. He hadn't exactly been 'playing' with Cerberus. He and Brock had just been walking down the street and without warning, not even a growl, the dog had lunged at a woman in head to toe black robes, taking her to the ground with snaps and snarls. Clay had seen the knife, launched between her and the dog, felt the knife slash...yeah, Brock had taken it well, the team hadn't.

She blew her breath out, smiled. "Here," she pushed his hand aside. "Let me." She rubbed the surrounding skin with the rough, wet cloth, stayed away from the stitches. Blood had oozed, dried, oozed again. "Wow, doesn't want to scab over, does it?"

He winced when she applied pressure, scrubbed, flinched. "Mmmm."

"Sorry." She gave him a shy smile. "Cerb's fine, you, not so much, huh?" He was bruised wherever the t-shirt didn't cover. She didn't know a lot about injuries, this was beyond her expertise which consisted of scraped knees and scissor cuts. But yeah, the area around the stitches looked, well, swollen and the swelling extended below the waist of his pajama pants and towards his belly button.

"I've had worse." Clay was quiet, remembered Sonny yelling at him: " _God-damn you Spenser! How many times do I have to say it?! If the fucking bitch insults your manhood, laugh it off. If the fucking bitch tries to sever your dick, knock the god-damn whore out! You put her down! We've been over this! You hear me this time? You got it? JESUS CHRIST!"_

Emma let it go, wasn't going to get an answer. She poked at the stitches with a rag-covered finger. "They're loose." She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. She hadn't seen many stitches in her lifetime, just a time or two when her mother had been changing the dressing on one wound or another of her Dad's, but even so, she didn't think the thread should bunch and wiggle when the wound was gently disturbed by a mere, poking finger.

"Yeah." He hissed, breath catching. "Ow."

"Trent did such sloppy work?" She teased. "Don't see it." She dabbed and swiped with the antiseptic wipes, pinched a bit of skin, eyes widening when puss oozed. "That can't be good."

Clay bit his lip, she wasn't gentle. Remembered Trent's impatient fit when Clay had needed stitches - again: _"God dammit Clay, just once! Don't touch, Jesus...let me see...aw, fuck, gonna need stitches again. Call you Dalton. Outta glue you, it's faster and I'm ready for bed. Let you itch, might teach you to stop blindly rushing head first into danger, you ass."_

But of course, Clay was allergic to Dermabond.

"Fell out of my hammock after they were set." He said finally. He was so used to stitches and staples, he didn't even require anything to numb the wound anymore.

"Thought Trent preferred staples. Hold this, still oozing." She tossed the blooded wipes aside, folded a clean, soft cloth into a pad, handed it to Clay to hold against the stitches until the bleeding stopped. "Any idea what started the bleeding again?"

"Never stopped." Clay admitted. "Let up though. Rolled over maybe. You uh, know Trent?"

"Should learn to sleep on your back and not move so much." She teased. "Is this why Bravo's home? 'Cause you're hurt?"

Clay was quiet, wondering just how much Emma knew about her Dad's work. He didn't get the feeling she was pumping him for information, would accept what he told her and move on. Wonder if she got it from her mother. Jason had been a Seal when Emma had been born.

"The mission was scrubbed. We were sent on false intel."

"Mandy?" Emma guessed, tried and failed to keep the scorn from her tone.

"Not her fault." Clay managed. The failed mission had been fucked up from the beginning and one he wanted to put behind him and forget about. Tempers had been short, moods ugly and everyone had either been mad at or impatient with him.

She nodded, let it go. "Just...you know...thank you." She actually looked at him.

"For what?"

"Watching out for my Dad. Doing what you have to, to keep him safe, bring him home."

"My job, he's my boss." Clay offered lamely, uncomfortable with the conversation. "I'll protect anyone on the team." No matter who yelled at him for it. Least Cerberus had given him kisses, slept on his bed and Brock had brought him dinner so he didn't have to go out.

But Jason?

 _"The fuck Spenser?!" Jason yelled. "What the hell were you thinking? You pull a stunt like that again, I swear I'll beat your ass! You hear me?! You do not put yourself at risk like that, am I clear?"_

"You're a sniper." She tore off pieces of same-sized tape, stuck them by the edge on the counter. "Do the sheets need to be changed? Will ice help any?" She got up, got him a bottle of water. "You and Uncle Ray go high and kill people so Bravo can clear."

He coughed, water spurted out, dribbled down his chin. He hunched a shoulder to use his t-shirt to dry it off. "Your Dad tell you that?" Wow. And not likely. "That doesn't bother you?" He was stunned she was so matter-of-fact about it.

Emma turned on the spigot to rinse out the dish rag. "I'm neither naive nor stupid. Uncle Ray and Dad talk. I didn't understand when I was younger, I don't completely now, but since Mom died, Dad talks to me more. I don't know the missions you go on. Or why or where or what you do. Officially, I know you were never there. I know your jobs are covert, you operate in the shadows, you don't exist. My friends, their parents, my teachers know Dad is in the Navy, that's it. And yes, it bothers me that people die. No, I don't hate that you do it."

"You sure you're only seventeen?"

"You have no idea how hard it was to give you back my Dad. I didn't want to, but, I love him and the man he was becoming wasn't him."

"Your Dad's a good man." Clay agreed. "Not all men can or want to keep their family in their lives when they have your Dad's job."

"Not close to your Dad, huh?"

"It's complicated."

"But you still have him?"

 _"Spenser look, I know you've been through a lot this last year...you lost Brian, Adam, Stella. You were in a chopper crash, taken hostage, you were shot, your Dad's an ass. It's hard, you've been dealt some hard blows, a raw deal, but you're not alone, we're right here, so either get your head in the game or step down."_

Clay was quiet, Ray's gentle reprimand and reminder Ash was his father, still on his mind. Least he hadn't yelled at him. "Let's hope our fathers never meet."

"You don't think my Dad will like yours, huh?"

"How well do you know your Dad's men?" Clay changed the subject.

Ash and Jason ever met, there'd be one hell of a fight. Oh, at first, it would just be verbal jabs, hurled insults but Ash wouldn't be able to resist somehow dragging Clay into the argument and Jason would strike out...Ash was a dick, would try to have Jason arrested, press charges for battery and assault, do what he could to have the charges stick and affect Jason's career...oh yeah, wouldn't be good.

"Until recently? Not well. Dad kept his work life separate from his home life. We never even met the men on his team, except Uncle Ray. I don't even remember my life before Uncle Ray was in it, I've known him forever. But until they brought..." She stopped, Clay tilted his head questioningly. "...until they brought you home hurt and Dad stayed with you at your apartment, I hadn't had much to do with Sonny, Brock or Trent. Then, after Mom died, they were around more and Dad explained their roles on the team: Trent - medic; Brock - dog handler; Sonny - weapons; Ray - sniper; you - the rookie." She stopped again. "All dead shots. Then Mr. Seaver died and you guys were around all the time. Mr. Blackburn comes over for drinks, he and Dad are up until late, talking. I like his wife."

Mr. Blackburn? Clay managed to swallow the water that suddenly wanted to stick in his throat. "So, what makes you think I'm a sniper?"

"I have ears. When I was younger, I couldn't put it together, but now, with college prep classes, and the news in my face, Grandma talking to Dad and Dad always on the phone or someone stopping over...'kid went high' or 'the kid made the shot'. Yeah, you're a sniper. Mikey doesn't pay attention, but someday soon, he will."

Well, nothing to say to that revelation. Just a mental note to mention to Jason, his daughter wasn't a little girl anymore.

Clay pulled the cloth away, peered down, sighed. Yeah, Trent got a look at him and he'd be flat on his back, held down and re-stitched - or stapled. Ugh.

"Can't believe Trent let you go like this."

"He doesn't know."

"He wasn't on the plane?"

"I was asleep when we landed. By the time they woke me up, only your Dad was still there."

"Did Trent stitch you up?"

"Yuh-huh." He pulled a bottle from the med kit. Oozing puss wasn't a good sign.

"He's not going to be happy." She took the bottle from his hand. "Neosporin this is not," she read the instructions, squirted a dab into her palm, added water, made a lather. "Will this sting?" She asked as he tensed, flinched but held steady. "Sorry." With a gentle touch, she applied the foamy lather on and all around the stitches, rinsed it off by pouring tepid water from a glass, patted it dry. He held a gauze pad over the stitches while she taped it on, dropped his shirt.

"Blood doesn't bother you, huh?"

"Mikey. Dad. Uncle Ray. Mom was always tending some injury or another on Dad. Been around it my whole life."

"I don't intend to let Trent know I tore his stitches lose by falling out of my hammock." He helped her clean up.

"You don't think Dad will tell him?"

"No need." He gave her a grin that made her smile back at him. "I'll heal. Pick a college yet? Your Dad said you were accepted to several. He's pretty proud."

"No." She sounded sad, looked down.

"Worried about what? Location? Leaving your brother?" He paused. "The cost? Hey." He chucked her chin, she savored the moment, so this is what having a big brother would be like. "Don't want to make you sad, and I know pinning your Dad down for a serious talk requires traction in a hospital room, but talk to him. I'm sure your parents planned for your college tuition," he paused. "Pick your college, don't worry about how your Dad's going to pay for it."

She nodded. "Thanks. Um, Dad left you some medication, said if you couldn't sleep, you could take one." She pointed and he took the bottle off the fridge, swallowed one pill with water. "Never saw pill bottles with blue lids before."

"Yeah, they're mine. Night." Clay gave her a wink. "Thanks."

He went into the bedroom, shut the door, laid down on the bottom bunk, sighed. So, because he'd been hurt, and Jason didn't like Stella - because she'd left him alone in their apartment against Jason's orders - his boss's daughter had been introduced to the violent lives of all the men on Bravo.

Great. Just fucking great.

He couldn't wait to hear about how that was all his fault.

Emma cleaned up the kitchen, returned the first aid kit to the cupboard, sent her Dad a text, returned to her room with her phone in case her Dad called or texted back.


	2. Chapter 2

"We agreed?" Eric asked tiredly. He'd had so much coffee, his gut churned. He wanted to go home, go to bed.

"No, we're not 'agreed'." Brock snapped, causing all eyes to turn his way. "This is bullshit."

Whoa, Ray mouthed to Jason, who nodded. Eric rested a hip against the table. The unusual outburst from Brock, the quietest member of Bravo, rocked him off his feet.

"I'm still not getting this." Sonny rubbed his blood shot eyes. "You want us to go where, to do what, for whom again?"

"The last time we went to escort someone of 'high priority', we were shot at and Clay fell into a frozen creek, could have died." Trent added.

Still stunned by Brock's outburst, Ray stared at Trent in disbelief. "Not our usual line of work Blackburn." He finally said, looked at Jason. "Rescue, retrieve, hunt, kill...but escort?"

"I don't recall this resistance when you escorted the scientist and his wife from Russia." Mandy snapped.

"Aah, they crashed in the mountains of, where was it, China? It was classified as a rescue." Sonny snapped right back. "We didn't escort anyone out of Russia. If they hadn't gone down, we never would have been sent. Memory getting faulty there, Miz Ellis?"

Why was everyone unusually cranky this evening?

Again, Ray looked at Jason. But Jason avoided eye contact, did nothing to temper the hostility in the room. Members of Alpha and Bravo support shifted their weight uneasily, shuffled a step or two.

"So, what? Are you saying you're too good to do a simple escort mission?" Mandy volleyed. "The lofty Bravo doesn't lower themselves for a job they feel any tier three team can do?"

"I'm saying the last mission we did for you, ended in failure." Sonny retorted. "The kid banged up _again_ and the target not even in the fucking country you sent us to."

And there it was; the reason for all the hostility - Spenser.

"Aright!" Eric whistled, cut in. "That's enough." He shut it down after Jason didn't take the opportunity given him to do so. "Separate corners."

Jason was sprawled back in his chair, twiddling a pen. He had yet to be told why Mandy insisted on Bravo but he bet whatever the reason was, he and his men weren't going to like it. If he agreed to go on this mission, he'd likely have to leave the kid behind. Once he told Trent what had happened, Clay would be at doc's office because he bet there was more to Clay's injury than loose stitches that wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Does this mission really require our skills?" Jason tossed the pen, sat forward, elbows on the table. "Or is this another Taiz?"

Four sets of Bravo eyes swung to stare at him as one. Attitudes in the room shifted, low murmuring began. Sonny, on his feet, tossed a ball for Cerberus, who, pleased to have some attention, engaged in a game of fetch.

"You want us so you can use the kid again - because of his ability to understand the language." Jason pressed, Mandy didn't deny it. "That your game?"

Aah. Mandy wanted Bravo because Clay spoke the local language.

"Delta won't have lead on this mission." Mandy offered.

"Oh hell no." Sonny said instantly, dropped the ball, planted his palms on the table, leaned across it. "No."

"I'm with Sonny." Brock pivoted his chair away from Jason to glower at Mandy. "We told you in Yemen, never again."

"Woof!" Cerberus returned to Brock's side, gazed balefully at Mandy.

"Won't do it." Trent said.

Ray nodded. "I don't care what information you think this guy has, not putting Spenser at risk to get it."

"He won't be at risk." Mandy spat angrily. "It's his job. If he can't do it, then he should be removed from the team."

Mandy was irritated. Had been since Jason, the last person to walk into the room, had announced they were all there, no need to wait for Spenser, he wasn't coming.

Silence, no one even blinked. Sonny walked out. Brock followed, Cerb on his heels. After a moment, Trent left. Ray wavered, torn between loyalty to Jason, his job, his Commander and his ire at Mandy's attitude. He chose ire - left.

"Ray?" Jason called. Ray didn't turn around, but he paused. "Check my phone." Of all things Jason could have asked of him, checking his phone hadn't crossed his mind.

Ray tilted his head left; his way of communicating 'roger that'. He didn't need to ask why or what. If Jason was asking him to check his phone, it had to do with Spenser. He slammed the door behind him.

Sonny stalked off, Ray didn't call him back, knew he wouldn't go far. Brock was bee-lining for the vending machine. How the hell the man never gained a pound with that sweet tooth...Ray shook his head, looked for Trent. He'd gone to the end of the hall, stared out the window, hands in his pockets.

Damn Mandy.

Ray went to the pocket-shelf on the wall outside the door, removed Jason's cell. He ignored missed calls and voicemails, thumbed open the text app. What the hell did Jason have him looking for?

Nothing from Clay...everyone else was in the room he'd just walked out of...oh...Emma... _EMMA?!_

 _"Hey Dad, he got up around 10:30. Still bleeding. Took one of the pills you left for him, went back to bed."_

"That Jason's phone?" Sonny asked.

"Yeah." Ray started typing. What the hell was Jason thinking, taking Clay home, leaving him alone with Emma? Yes, alone, because if Jason's mom had been home, Emma wouldn't be the one texting her dad about Clay. And what the hell did she mean, still bleeding?

 _"Hey Ems, Uncle Ray...running later than we thought. You good?"  
"Yup, all's good here."  
"Where's your Grandma?"  
"Took Mikey to the movies."  
"Clay settle down?"  
"No, been up a couple times."  
"Give him another blanket."  
"Will do."  
"Okay squirt, love you."  
"Luv U 2 Uncle Ray."_

Ray sighed, returned the phone. He appreciated Emma texting like an adult with him rather than using emoji's and text-talk abbreviations, but the fact he'd had the short conversation at all, pissed him off. He and Jason were gonna have words.

He'd been hesitant to tell Emma to enter the bedroom, give Clay another blanket, but if her dad was willing to let her stay home and watch Clay by herself, Jason couldn't very well reprimand him for telling Emma to do just that. He'd wanted to ask where Clay was bleeding from, but it wasn't fair to put her on the spot. She likely assumed he knew and to later find out he hadn't and she'd given away something her dad hadn't told him, would make her feel awful, and Ray couldn't put that on her.

Ugh, straddling this not-a-kid-anymore but not yet-quite-an-adult was not something he was looking forward to in his own home.

He joined Trent at the window.

() () ()

Emma pulled a fleece blanket off a shelf in the linen closet. It wasn't all that cold outside, and the heat was on in the house, but she wore sweat pants, hoodie and fuzzy socks, and he wore a t-shirt, so maybe he was cold.

She knocked softly on the partially opened door. She knew better than to barge in, she'd been raised with a father who at times, reacted violently to loud noises and the unannounced presence of a person in his room when woken abruptly.

She didn't know if Clay startled easily and she didn't intend to find out. If he didn't respond to her knock and grant her entrance, she'd leave the blanket on the dresser just inside the door.

"Yeah?" Clay answered sleepily, came up on an elbow. He hadn't heard the phone, had Jason come home?

"Just me." She poked her head around the door. "Uncle Ray texted, the meeting is running late."

The only light in the room came from the hallway but he knew she held a blanket. He'd come from base with only his backpack. His duffel would be delivered to his cage to be retrieved later. If he asked, he was sure she'd bring him a sweatshirt or Henley of her Dad's but his muddled mind didn't form that thought into words.

"Brought you another blanket. Can I get you anything else?"

"I'm good, thanks."

She started to set the blanket down, then changed her mind, shook it out and awkwardly tossed it under the top bunk.

"Grandma and Mikey will be home soon. I'll tell them to keep it down."

"They won't bother me." Clay assured her. He was tired and sore and he ached, but even with the pull of the Motrin, he wasn't able to sleep. He'd doze off, but he wasn't comfortable on his back and didn't want to move or roll over and make the bleeding worse, so pretty much, he remained tense and half awake.

"Okay, night."

"Night."

Emma backed out of the room, pulled the door half-way closed and the hall light went out. Clay sighed, adjusted the blanket, eased onto his left side, bit his lip when his right side twinged in protest over the movement.

If the meeting was going this long, Bravo would be deploying. He didn't know where or why, but yeah, they'd be going. Most likely, Mandy had new information. He just hoped it was accurate this time.

He pulled the blankets over his shoulder and the added warmth from the fleece lulled him towards sleep. His side stabbed at his hip, a reminder he wasn't really in any condition to go anywhere soon. For the first time since he'd joined Bravo, he seriously considered playing on his injury to avoid spinning up.

He was tired of Mandy and her pet missions. Maybe Ray was right, maybe he needed to step down, get his head on straight. Wouldn't hurt to let his body heal either. After this last year, doc would easily sign a medical leave, had tried to convince Clay to take one before...and with an infection in the knife wound, Trent wouldn't argue.

He'd been hurt numerous times, but once he'd healed, he'd been right back with the team. A time or two, he'd gone back before he probably should have. And a time or two, he'd continued to go to work on base when he probably shouldn't have. Yeah, this time, he'd be on his own, getting over this injury, he could go to his aunt's house, he should get anywhere from four to six weeks off...

He heard Linda and Mikey come home, heard Emma meet them in the kitchen, heard the low hum of conversation and soon the door to his room opened. He didn't move, figured it was Mikey coming to bed, but no one entered.

"You asleep?"" Linda asked quietly from the doorway. Right, this was Jason's Mom, she knew better than to barge in on a sleeping Seal. "Okay Mike, he's asleep, get ready for bed, don't disturb him, yes, you have to brush your teeth, where are your pajamas? You can sleep in your Dad's room...no...oh, you want to sleep in here? Alright, but you must be quiet, no bouncing in your bunk."

() () ()

Assorted personnel in the room jockeyed positions, moods shifted; some who were standing, sat; some who were sitting, stood; murmurs and groans and grunts finally settled into an uncomfortable silence.

"Good Mandy, real good." Jason sighed, thumbed his eyes closed. "Do me a favor, don't volunteer on a suicide hot line."

"Jesus Jason, come on!"

"Ellis." Blackburn warned. "If Spenser weren't on the team, you wouldn't have this option. This job doesn't require a tier one unit. You want Bravo because Clay speaks the language. Man up, admit it and accept defeat. Send an interpreter and go with Charlie's tier three team."

"I want Bravo because they're the best and everyone knows it. I want the information Atwal has. There is no danger to Spenser."

"You're lying." Jason stated, Eric nodded. "Is this guy one of your moles or informants or whatever?"

"He's an asset."

"Why us Mandy?" Jason pushed. "Front up honesty or I'm walking out that door and we aren't coming back."

"Atwal doesn't speak English." She began, but apparently not fast enough to satisfy Jason.

"Let me tell you how it'll go." Jason spun around, tossed a wadded-up ball of paper into a trash can. "We'll go, we'll land, we'll arrange transportation, we'll arrive at the meet location, we'll lose Spenser, shit hits the fan, Sonny comes after you and I won't be in the mood to stop him."

"Then make sure you don't lose Spenser."

"You've never tried to watch him." Eric shook his head. "Not that easy Ellis. It's impossible. Whenever the op or job or mission _you_ send us on requires his 'language skills', shit goes south. Every god damn fucking time."

Us, not them. Didn't Eric's choice of words just push her buttons.

"Thought you had a way to track him now." Mandy shot back. "Didn't we spend a fortune on that technology? An expense granted to Bravo that put noses out of joint on the other teams?"

"Oh, we do." Jason said softly. "And _we_ did. Y _our_ agency didn't spend a dime so don't you dare throw that in my face. Knowing where he is and getting him back before he's tortured and beaten to hell ain't as easy as finding him once he's been taken."

"And if I call in a favor and force you to take this mission?"

The room went silent and still.

"Don't threaten me with that. Don't you dare." Jason warned, pushing to his feet so suddenly and with such force, the chair spun violently on its axis. "You really won't like me if you _ever_ force a pet mission on us."

Mandy pursed her lips, turned her back. No, she would never do that. She'd just wanted to see Jason's reaction. And it was exactly what she expected it to be.

We're done here." Jason walked to the door. "Take Charlie's third unit."

"And if I told you Atwal might have in his possession, information on the network of rebels responsible for taking Brock and Clay in Syria?"

Jason stopped, hand on the door handle, he turned, not to Mandy, but to the one person in the room who he trusted without doubt, the one man who had never lied to him.

"Blackburn? That true?"

"First I'm hearing of it." Eric glared at Mandy. They hadn't been on the best of terms since Mexico.

"It's possible, not confirmed." Mandy acknowledged.

"Playing on my need for revenge?" Jason asked Mandy. "Low blow."

"I'm not beyond it."

"Could have led with that bit of bait." Eric taunted. "Or call it what it is...emotional blackmail."

"You still haven't answered, why us?" Jason pushed, feeling the shift of mood in the room. "Why is Spenser so important to this mission? Why not an interpreter?"

She pulled up a picture on the large screen on the wall. "Atwal is staying in this village. He doesn't know someone is coming to get him. He may or may not come willingly."

"Why do you want him out? He has more info than Syria, I'm guessing." Jason still hadn't opened the door.

"He's a source of information Jason. That's all you need to know."

Jason and Eric stared at one another, neither blinked, neither nodded, just stared. They weren't likely to get any more information from Mandy.

"Your call." Eric said finally. "But I don't like it."

Jason opened the door. His men hadn't gone far, he called them in. Three came willingly, Sonny didn't even get up.

"Sonny, team vote." Jason waited. "Sonny."

"Knew we shouldn't have left you alone with her." Sonny stared at the floor, elbows on his knees. "How'd she talk you into it?"

"She claims Atwal might have information on the network of rebels that took Brock and Clay in Syria."

That got Sonny's attention. He mentally corrected the statement to; took Brock and beat the shit out of Clay. He stood up, remembered he was supposed to be mad, sat back down, jounced his knee.

"She tells you that now?" Trent wasn't in a forgiving mood. He just wanted to go home. "Not liking her head games Boss." He entered the room, Brock behind him.

Boss? Wow, Trent was pretty pissed.

Jason waited, didn't want to push. Sonny finally thumped his knees with the heels of his fists, got to his feet, entered the briefing room.

"You and me brother." Ray poked Jason in the chest. "We're gonna have a talk."

"Emma call?"

"She sent a text. The hell Jay? The hell is Spenser doing at your house?"

"Kid doing okay?"

"If you mean Spenser, she says got up around 10:30, still bleeding. Bleeding from where Jason? Why isn't he at his place? You said he wasn't coming tonight because he wasn't feeling well. No one questioned it, 'cause yeah, bet he does feel like shit after a kick in the crotch not even a day ago." He smacked his forehead with an open palm. "Right, oh yeah, forgot he was, you know, sliced open with a knife capable of gutting him on a dirty street."

"Can we do this later Ray?"

"How about now?"

"He was sleeping when we landed. Had to wake him up to leave. He fell out of the hammock, loosened the stitches."

"That's why we strap in, we land."

"He didn't fall because of a rough landing." Jason said impatiently. "He's sore, he was stiff, he hurts."

"But your daughter?"

"You don't trust him with her?" Jason countered.

"It's not about Clay!" Ray began but Eric came to the door, waved them in. Jason went, so Ray had no choice but to follow. The door closed the door behind them and they all resumed their seats.

Mandy went over the information again. No one had questions, no one even spoke.

"I'm gonna say it." Sonny said. "Miz Ellis, we lose that kid, he gets taken, he stubs a toe, anything happens to him, you best not be on our flight home."

Mandy looked at Jason for support, expected a reprimand for Sonny, but none came.

"Are we agreed then?" Eric asked. Hadn't he asked this question, like hours ago?

Jason pushed with his heels, backed his chair away, foot-walked it until both Sonny and Ray were between him and Trent.

"That's gonna be up to Trent." Ray added. "Right Jay?"

"Say what now?" Eric stared.

"Yeah, about that." Jason hemmed and hawed. "Kid was asleep when we landed. We left him alone while we unloaded, but when we were ready to leave, we had to wake him up."

Trent doodled, chin cupped in his hand.

"He fell out of the hammock, loosened the stitches."

Trent bobbed his head, said nothing.

"You said he wasn't here tonight because he wasn't feeling well." Mandy accused.

"He's at my house." Jason sent her a glare, continued. "I took him to the clinic, the doc on duty said though he'd torn some loose, he hadn't torn any out, sent him home on Motrin. Yeah, Mandy, he feels like shit."

"Mebbe you forgot." Sonny couldn't help but add fuel to the fire. "He was walking down the street, minding his own business, when a fanatic tried to stab him in the back. This, after you tell us all's clear, take the night off, have a good time. Remember any of this Miz Ellis? Thank the dog there, the kid only was sliced, de-jeweled and beaten up."

"Sonny, not helping." Ray said.

"Don't care."

"Not quite how I recall it Sonny." Mandy shot back. "You weren't there. The dog attacked the woman..."

"Riiiiight...Cerb, you naughty dog, bad you for carrying a knife and trying to stab our kid. Shame."

"He attacked because she was wielding a knife." Brock was on his feet. "He saw it, we didn't. Clay got between them so the dog wasn't stabbed. You weren't there." He mimicked her condescending tone. "I was. Cerb saved our lives, Clay saved his. Boss, I'll do whatever you decide, but just know, I'm not doing her any favors." He waited, Jason nodded. "We done here?"

"You can go." Eric said. Sonny went with him. "Way to go Mandy, you managed to piss off the most easy-going affable Seal the Navy has ever seen."

Trent warred. He wanted to demand Jason take him home so he could see Clay for himself, but the doctor he'd seen was competent. Right?

"He slept through the unloading? Didn't wake up on his own?" Trent stood up, that didn't sound right. He glanced at his watch. "Bring him to doc in the morning."

"Wait, so, you're saying...you are agreeing to go, or not?" Mandy asked.

"Not up to us." Jason said, everyone was filing out of the room, he and Eric the last to leave.

She fumed but she was all alone in the room.

***000***

Linda met Jason in the kitchen when he got home around two a.m. He sighed, not up to a confrontation with his Mom over Clay in the house.

"Hey." Linda came into the kitchen. "You hungry?" She began to peel an orange. "Do you have to leave again?"

"Maybe."

Linda was quiet, pulled the orange into pieces, set them on a plate, pushed it across the island.

"Why is there a sick man in your son's room? You never brought your men home before."

"Life kicks you in the gut, you get through it however you can."

Ouch, she knew that tone. Okay then, now was not the time to push. She waited to see if Jason would eat, he did.

"What do you mean, sick?" Jason demanded, licked juice off his fingers. "He's not sick," he scowled. "Is he?"

Linda raised an eyebrow, handed him a napkin. "I raised you. I know a sick boy when I see one." Wasn't that why Jason had brought him home?

"When did you see him?" Jason demanded, ate another piece of orange. "Was he up?"

"Was he shot?" She countered.

"What?" Jason exclaimed. "NO!"

"But he's hurt." She pressed.

"Our job is violent, we get hurt."

Linda tossed the orange peels into the trash, began to cut an apple into slices - red not green. Oh, she knew her son. When agitated - feed Jason Hayes.

"He was up half an hour or so ago." She put the apple slices on the empty plate. "Favors his right side."

"He's not sick." Jason munched on the apple, accepted a cookie. "Least, he wasn't. Hell, I don't know."

"Hurt then." Linda poured a glass of milk. She wouldn't argue with her know-it-all son about his men, but the boy sleeping in the bunk beneath her grandson was ill. "How bad?"

Jason shrugged, accepted the milk. "Not serious."

"He saw a doctor?"

Jason dunked his cookie, watched his Mom spread peanut butter on a couple of the apple slices. "He did."

"After you came home? But not when he was hurt?" He shook his head, nodded. She patted his hand. "Will you go on this mission, if he can't go?"

Jason sighed. "The kid has a knack for languages, speaks several fluently. This mission calls for that skill. If he can't go, there's no need for us to go either."

"When do you have to leave?"

"Not right away." Jason hedged. "Hey." He greeted when Clay came into the room. "You up again?"

Clay shrugged. Again? So, either Emma or Linda had ratted him out. Probably both.

"Com'ere." Jason muttered around the peanut butter covered apple wedge between his teeth. "Lemme see."

Clay obediently stood beside Jason, raised his arm over his head, let Jason push the hem of his t-shirt up, looked away when Jason cursed at the blood-spotted bandage.

"Still?" Jason maneuvered the wedge into his mouth, chewed. He poked, prodded, kneaded. "Sore?"

"Mmmhmm." Linda tut-tutted. Area, location, square bandage. "Knife?"

Clay glanced at her surprised, stepped away from Jason's poking fingers, let his shirt fall.

"Don't look at me like that." Linda snorted. "I raised him." She pointed her knife at Jason. "He came home many a time, sliced, stabbed, shot."

Ignoring his mother, Jason asked. "Hurt much?"

"No."

Jason watched him, tried to determine if the kid was lying. "Still bleeding?"

Clay nodded, repeated Emma's words. "Doesn't want to scab over."

"Trent doesn't have you on anything, does he?" Jason's mind raced, but search as he might, he was unable to come up with Trent, at any time, saying he'd given the kid any medication other than ibuprofen.

"No, what was tonight about?"

"Mandy." Jason bit out, offered Clay a cookie, he shook his head, took a slice of apple right off Jason's plate.

Linda's eyes widened, she turned away with a cough to cover her amazement. The last time someone - family, mind you - had tried to steal food from Jason's plate, they'd been stabbed with a fork.

"Water?" Linda offered Clay.

Before he could accept or refuse, Jason was shaking his head. "Give him Gatorade." He told his mother. She opened the fridge, removed the first bottle, jumped when Jason let out a startled yelp. "Not red." He said, tone normal.

Clay didn't even bother to argue, it was useless to keep trying to convince his team red Gatorade didn't make him puke. "What does she want us to do this time?"

"Go to Jordan and escort an asset out of a village."

If Jason was going to speak freely in front of his mother, Clay wasn't going to watch his tongue either.

"Not our usual kind of job."

"He, uh, supposedly has information on the network of rebels that took you and Brock in Syria."

Linda faltered. Taken? As in, hostage? This young man? Oh dear.

Clay froze, then slowly uncapped the bottle of clear Gatorade Zero. "Sonny bit on that, huh?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

"So, when do we go?"

"Dunno." Jason handed him another slice of apple with peanut butter, he took it. "Mandy wants us because you speak the language and Atwal doesn't know he's going to be leaving. He may or may not come willingly."

Clay's hand went to his side. Jason didn't miss the gesture.

"Bravo can still go." Clay knew Sonny wasn't the only member of Bravo who wanted revenge on whoever had been the mastermind behind Brock's abduction. Jason wanted it just as badly. "Take an interpreter."

"Mandy's against that...no, I don't know why. She isn't sharing, as usual."

Clay really wasn't in the mood to do any favors for Mandy Ellis. Not after their last mission.

"Trent wants to see you at doc's in the morning. You get any sleep?"

"Yeah, don't let him glue me."

"Glue you?" Linda repeated.

"Dermabond." Jason explained. "Makes him itch."

"You'd rather suffer the pain of stitches than the mild itching of glue?" Linda shook her head. "Men."

"Nuh-uh Mom." Jason grinned. "Nothing's ever mild with this one." He got up, took down the first aid kit, opened it, patted the counter. "Have a seat."

Clay used his hands to easily hoist himself onto the counter, raised his shirt, let Jason remove the bandage.

"Good Lord Jason, that's infected." She peered over her son's shoulder. "When did this happen?" She looked at the first aid kit. "Where did you get this?" Some items she knew, others she guessed at. Some were individually wrapped, some small, others large. "Not found at your local drug store, I bet." She held a packet. "Nor this."

"Bleeding stop at all?" Jason ignored his mother, reached around Clay, turned the spigot on, soaked a wash rag. Clay bit his lip, terry cloth was rough, he didn't like it.

"No, let up though."

"Arm up." Jason wrung excess water from the rag, nudged Clay's knees part, stood between his legs to get a good look without having to squat down. "Man, Clay, didn't think it was that bad." he held the rag on bare skin against the stitches. It was cold, made Clay quiver, goose bumps appeared. "That quack said you were fine."

"Have a care." Linda chided her son. "You don't have a light hand Jason, go easy on him."

"Find me the styptic powder."

"Isn't that used when you clip a dog's nails to short and it bleeds?"

"Yup."

"Then why..." Linda sighed. Right, to stop bleeding. Somehow, she doubted the styptic powder in this kit was the same as what was used on dogs.

Jason had access to hospital grade supplies and medications and apparently, he knew how to use them.

Clay fidgeted, squirmed to remain still while Jason rubbed, dabbed, applied pressure, then rubbed and dabbed some more, applied pressure again.

"Damn kid, you can bruise." Jason pinched skin, made the wound ooze around the stitches.

"She could land a punch...OW!" He jerked, heels kicked against the cupboard door. "Jeez...sus!" He didn't yelp, aware the kids slept, but damn! He blinked, eyes moist.

All a sudden, he felt worse than he had since Trent had tended his injuries and doc had declared him fit to fly home. He'd had enough…..the last twenty-four hours had wiped him out. He wanted nothing more than to just rest his forehead against Jason's shoulder, let his boss hold the back of his neck with a warm hand, submit to the comfort that would be offered.

He didn't.

Clay swallowed, bit his lip. Yow, never had stitches hurt so much before. Course, he'd never torn any loose before either. Had he? Wait...no...maybe...aw, hell, he couldn't remember.

"This might sting." Jason warned, Linda held out the opened jar. "Mom, find me the med tape. It looks like butterfly Band-Aids...yup, that's it. Thanks."

Linda didn't fuss or comment but her set mouth and frown told Jason he was going to hear about it later.

A sharp hiss, a couple ow's and ooh's, a blank stare at the ceiling and Clay managed the sting - pain - of the anti-hemorrhagic powder. A word Jason never would have tried to pronounce, but Linda read the bottle.

"Geesch Jason, this is used in surgical procedures!"

"Bah." Jason blew her off. "Works anywhere." He packed the powder down with two fingers, his touch light, rubbed small circles, dusted the excess off, applied the butter fly Band-Aids, taped on a clean bandage.

Linda gave Clay a sympathetic smile, collected trash, returned various items to the med kit.

"Crash on the couch, you want." Jason told Clay. "You good?"

"Yeah," he hesitated, slid off the counter. "You told Trent?"

"Did you doubt I would?"

Clay hung his head, shook it slightly.

"Take that shirt off." Linda held her hand out. "It's stained and wet."

"I'm good."

Jason left the kitchen. It was likely the only shirt Clay had with him and he didn't want to run around the house without one. He returned with a sweatshirt.

"Want some Tylenol? You've had enough ibuprofen tonight."

No, he didn't want Tylenol, he wanted something stronger, but it wasn't offered, so he nodded, took the two capsules, changed shirts and returned to Mikey's room with the bottle of Gatorade.

"He's running a fever." Linda remarked. "The boy is flushed."

"I know." Jason kissed her cheek. "Go to bed."


	3. Chapter 3

"You again." Doc jovially greeted Clay. "What happened? You were fit and fine when we left to come home. I said so myself."

Clay gave him a half-hearted smile, slight shrug, said nothing.

'Huh." Doc looked at Jason over the lack-luster response from Clay. He wasn't used to seeing Clay looking so down and forlorn. The man fought through pain and discomfort like no other. "Okay then, hop up on the table." He watched Clay move, noticed the hitch in his step, the hesitation, the bit bottom lip. "Know what Chief, why don't you step out? Kid doesn't need you here. Give us, say, oh half an hour?"

Clay was quiet. Jason had let him sleep in until he'd woken up on his own, so it was early afternoon, not morning because after Jason had gotten home, Clay had finally been able to fall asleep. Maybe it was because Jason had tended his wound, the bleeding had stopped and the pain had eased, maybe it was because with the sweatshirt and added blanket, he'd finally been warm, or maybe, it was just because Jason was home.

Linda had made omelets for lunch but he hadn't woken up feeling all that great, hadn't had much of an appetite, managed only a bite or two and a slice of toast. Jason had denied him coffee and the orange juice had soured his already unsettled stomach.

He now knew why Emma always heard everyone talk. You could hear any conversation in the kitchen from the bathroom she shared with Mikey, even with the door closed. He'd been brushing his teeth, had skipped taking a shower and was just sitting on the tub, waiting for his stomach to either rebel or settle when he'd heard Linda yak at Jason in the kitchen.

()

 _"I didn't say anything last night, it was late and you were tired, but Jason, you can't bring those men into this house."_

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _"Yes, yes. He's polite and well-mannered, but look at him Jason. He's going to turn the eye of any young girl."_

 _"Not Emma."_

 _"Yes, Emma. His physical appearance, the allure of his clandestine job. The mystery of what he is. What he does for a living."_

 _"What I do." Jason corrected._

 _"Brutality, violence, viciousness. Your job calls for you to be cruel and savage, crude and lewd, not qualities a young girl should admire."_

 _"Okay, stop. Just stop. Emma has been raised with what I do. She doesn't know details, but she's not stupid. She handles it. She sees Clay as one of my men, nothing more. If... **IF** , she were to have a crush on him or become infatuated, he would politely and firmly, shut her down. I trust him in this house and with her life, in her life. End of story."_

 _"Jason..."_

 _"He's family Mom. It doesn't matter what that kid does or what he puts me through...and Jesus, what he puts me through. You see all this grey? Yeah, blame him. This is over and I don't wanna hear about it again. I don't turn my back on family and that's what that kid is. You get that?"_

 _"Blind faith? Is that it? Trust, loyalty, just like that?"_

 _"Yeah Mom, just like that."  
_

()

Jason nodded. He'd go to their cages, collect his and Clay's gear, load up the truck. He'd be dropping Clay off at his own apartment, but he'd still want his duffel.

Mandy texted him for the third time that morning, he ignored it, like he had the previous two. He had no answer for her and wouldn't until the doc had one for him. He unlocked his cage, entered and sat down in his favorite sports logo-bearing canvas chair. He always felt peace here, a calm he didn't get anywhere else.

Had they missed something? Trent had stitched Clay up. Doc had declared him fine. They'd flown home and now the kid was trashed. He'd been going non-stop for over a year, one injury after another. Then there was the emotional turmoil in the kid's life; the deaths of Brian and Adam - even Alana, the loss of Stella, the chopper crash, Jason's injury, getting shot...the fucking dick the law said was his dad.

He was still struggling and no matter how patient and supportive the team was, Clay wasn't dealing with it well at all. Trent thought the kid was weighing whether or not to leave the team in order to make his relationship with Stella work. It wouldn't, but there was no telling the kid that. If he went that route, he'd find out for himself, and it would be a long emotional journey that would ultimately end in disappointment. And yes, Jason would be there, waiting. Would take him back.

Thank God for Sonny.

Damn Mandy.

Jason wanted the info Atwal allegedly had. He wanted to go and get it himself but by the look on the doc's face, he wouldn't be giving Clay clearance to fly out anytime soon. He bounced a ball off the opposite wall, played catch. Yeah, he could talk Mandy around and get her to agree to let Bravo take an interpreter, but would the team still want to go? He didn't know the reasoning behind her insistence they take Clay, but he bet it was because as good as Bravo was, they were their best when together...all six of them. And if that was the reason, it wasn't fair to Clay.

Screw her for playing on his need to get the man responsible for taking and hurting two of his men, but she knew him well. It's why they worked so well together. He wasn't blind, Clay didn't have to say it, Jason knew. He was undecided about this mission. Maybe he wouldn't get medical clearance to go. Maybe he would. Did Mandy want him so much, she'd agree to wait for him?

And he knew his team. If Clay _couldn't_ go 'cause Doc benched him, they'd be content to leave him home and go collect this Atwal dude. If Clay _didn't_ want to go...

His phone buzzed. Another text. He sighed, pulled his phone out of his pocket, ready to tell Mandy to fuck off, but it was Brock, not Mandy.

 _Brock: "Where are you?"_  
 _Jason: "Base with Doc."_  
 _Brock: "Still? Bring him here."_  
 _Jason: "He slept all morning. He's wiped."_  
 _Brock: "I know. Bring him here."_

What the hell was that all about? Jason sent a 'thumbs up' emoji, put his phone down, resumed his game of bounce-the-ball-off-the-wall-catch-repeat.

()

"Got a good infection going there." Doc popped a thermometer under Clay's tongue. The kid didn't often run a fever, and most times he had, he'd been in the hospital or the infirmary. Walking around with one now was the reason he felt like crap and likely why he was so mopey. It beeped, Doc read it. "101.4." Higher than he'd thought, but not high enough to worry about. Much. Huh. "Get on that, we will."

Clay shrugged, hell, he didn't know. "Don't have to re-stitch, do you?"

"No, I think the butter-fly adhesive should do the trick. Trent wouldn't always have to stitch you, we could use glue on you. Or you know, you didn't bleed so easily. Useless for me to tell you to keep them dry. Just apply new after a shower. Pat, don't rub. You know the drill."

Oh, did he.

"Mandy wants us to go to Jordan."

"Sure, sure." Doc nodded. "In two weeks maybe, or they go without you. You don't want to go with stitches in your side, they aren't coming out for a week. Infection, fever. Yeah, you're grounded." He was writing again. That clipboard went everywhere Doc did. One of these days, Clay was going to get hold of it, see what was really on it. "Again, no muscle or tendon damage, don't know how..." Was he talking to himself, the clipboard or Clay?

And there, the door opened for Clay to ask about med leave. "Uh, Doc," He hesitated. "I know this injury isn't serious..."

"God Bless you, none of yours have been, though some had the potential to be." Doc cut in. "Painful, sore, medication required, sure. Life-threatening? Yup, but you have Trent, so nope."

"If I...wanted to..." He paused, damn this was harder than he'd thought. "You said..."

Doc put down the clipboard, gave Clay his full attention. "Are you finally thinking about my suggestion of taking med leave?" He wasn't surprised. The boy had been attacked, beaten, beaten up, beaten down, stabbed, shot and blown up, taken hostage and kidnapped and drugged and lost; he'd thrown reactions to medications and inoculations...all in the last year or so, and nearly six of those months, Bravo had been grounded due to Jason's head injury.

Other teams had offered to let Clay run with them but Trent had thrown a fucking fit, Jason had flat out refused and Doc had strongly hinted that Clay had been in the same chopper crash as Jason and while not as severely injured as his boss, he didn't need to be rushing off on ops with a team leader he wasn't familiar with.

Clay shrugged, looked out the window for a good minute. Doc waited and finally, Clay nodded.

"Do you want it to begin now? I'll break it to Jason..." Clay thought he almost sounded gleeful.

Bu Clay was shaking his head, "Uh, how long?"

"With your history," Doc waved the clipboard. "I'll sign off on twelve weeks."

Wow, longer than he'd thought. "I'll let you know."

"Now, what's this about going to Jordan? We just got home." Doc began to write again.

"Mandy wants an asset escorted out of his village."

"Why Bravo?"

"I speak the language and he supposedly has information on the rebel network that took Brock in Syria."

Doc paused, really? Oh yeah, no way would Jason just let that go. "And you." Because Clay had certainly been the one who had suffered physically from that abduction.

Clay shrugged. "They took Brock, I was just..."

Doc held a hand up, cut him off. "Now, none of that. Brock wasn't the reason Blackburn had to come up with a way for the Navy to pay for repairs at JoJo's bar. He wasn't the reason Willis left JoJo's head first through a window and he's not the reason Willis is serving a year in the hills of Austria rescuing novice skiers from avalanches due to their own stupidity." He chuckled. "Bravo got their message out there, oh yes indeed they did."

Clay stared. What the hell was Doc talking about? What message?

"Hey." Jason came in without knocking. "He good to go?"

"Home? Yes." Doc retrieved a bottle from a medicine cabinet. "Antibiotic. Safe for you to take."

"To fly out?"

"No." Doc said firmly.

"When?"

"Jesus Jason, you've been stabbed before, beaten to a pulp. You know how the boy feels. While he's running a fever, fighting that infection, the last thing he needs is to swing in a hammock and tromp through the desert."

"Mountains." Jason corrected.

"I'm okay." Clay felt obligated to offer.

"You're not." Doc said sternly. "You need rest." He didn't bring up Clay's request about med leave, it was between doctor and patient. Jason wouldn't see it that way, but Doc didn't care about Jason's feelings. "Trent cleaned that wound thoroughly, I know that, because he's Trent and he doesn't skimp and cut corners with you. You're run down, and you need time to rest and heal."

"When?" Jason persisted.

"I'll see him in a week." Doc dared Jason to push further but the way Clay looked away, his eyes downcast, a slight slump in his shoulders made Jason hold his tongue.

"Okay, you ready to go? Got your duffel in the truck. You need anything from home? Thanks Doc."

"I'm not going home?" Clay asked. He wanted to. Oh, did he want to.

"Brock said to drop you off."

Clay was comfortable at Brock's house which was lived-in and untidy, but clean. Katie was no Alana, no designer fashions and decor. Dogs, and there were three, were allowed everywhere, on the furniture, in the bed. He didn't feel like he had to ask for whatever he wanted or couldn't set a glass on the table. He could help himself to the fridge or linen closet without feeling out of place and awkward. He wouldn't hesitate to ask to borrow a sweatshirt. So, yeah, he could handle staying with Brock. Katie worked odd hours, so he wouldn't see a lot of her, it'd just be him and Brock until Brock flew out with Bravo, then he could go home and sulk while he 'rested and healed'.

Bravo would go on the mission, there was no doubt. Jason would talk Mandy around to taking an interpreter and they'd be off. And after the attitudes he'd received on their last failed mission, he was okay with not going on another op so soon. He was sick to death of being yelled at.

() () ()

"Hey," Brock joined Clay on the back deck. Not ideal weather to be sitting outside, but Katie had turned the outdoor propane fed fire pit on and Clay was wore a coat and hat, so he didn't make an issue over it.

"You spinning out?"

Brock opened a beer, handed Clay a bottle of flavored Life Water.

"Uh," Brock put his feet up, Cerberus came to sit between them. "Not sure what you want to hear."

"Does it matter?"

"What's with you? You're never this moody." And boy, moody he had been.

He'd been at Brock's for three days and other than a comment now and again, Brock hadn't been able to engage Clay in conversation. Mostly, the kid slept and when Brock had mentioned that to Trent - he wasn't worried, of course. Just curious, you see - his teammate had assured him, that with the wound infected, the antibiotics and his body healing from the ass-kicking, knife swipe and the long flight home, sleeping so much was normal.

Katie had scoffed, rolled her eyes. Right, Clay didn't sleep when only she was home with him. He was restless and uneasy and all the tossing and turning made him ache and he'd be up, walking the floor. No, Clay only slept when Brock was in the house. Now, how normal was that? What did Trent have to say about that?

"Dunno. Thinking, I guess. Maybe my head isn't where it should be. I...I don't even know if I want to go Brock. I don't think I do. Maybe it's time I stand down for a while."

Brock was quiet. Where the hell was this coming from? Who the hell had put that thought into his head? Ray, probably.

"I don't think time by yourself is what you need." He said finally, the dog settled between them, quiet with the somber mood between the two humans. "What, stay home and sulk?"

"I'm tired Brock. Of the yelling, the teasing, the snide comments, the dirty looks, everyone being mad at me. Tired of being used and expected to be happy about it. Tired of being the reason Bravo is sent on missions because I speak the language." Clay scratched the dog's ears. "I haven't felt good in weeks, I'm just...tired."

"So, med leave?"

Damn Mandy. Brock understood how she came across to Clay, how he'd see things with her the way he did, but it wasn't Mandy, wasn't who she was. It really wasn't.

Clay nodded, shrugged, blew his breath out. "I called my aunt, she lives in Kentucky..."

"Your aunt?" Brock repeated, startled. He hadn't been aware Clay had any close family.

"Ash's sister. She doesn't have anything to do with him, but never held him against me."

Like others did, do. Brock sighed. Yeah, the kid was judged. Not fair, but it was what it was. And who the hell was mad at him? Why would he think that?

"Six weeks?" Brock asked, stomach tightening. All those late night talks about their kid and not once, had it ever occurred to any of them, he might want to leave Bravo!

"Doc said he would sign off on twelve."

Brock winced. Clay had already talked to Doc, made plans to leave town, that wasn't good. If Clay was taking that much time away from Bravo, leaving Virginia, it would be harder to get him to come back. He wondered when Clay's enlistment was up. Damn. He needed to call Davis, find out.

He chose his next words carefully. He was the only member of Bravo Clay was finally talking to about how he felt, and he didn't want to ruin that.

"Is Stella behind this?" God, please, let him have kept scorn from his tone.

"You mean, did we decide if I left the team, we could work on our relationship?" Clay said despondently. "Not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind."

Brock was quiet, felt gut-punched. Wow, the kid was really unhappy.

"But no, we haven't discussed it. If she can't accept...I mean...I dunno. I think about it all the time, but she won't...why should I be the one to sacrifice everything?" He finished morosely. "I haven't talked to her since...before, uh Mexico."

"Would it make you happy?"

"Thought it would, now...dunno." Clay shifted his weight to his other hip. His right hip wanted to cramp, he kept his weight on it too long. People were right, time healed all wounds. "So, you guys going?"

"Do you want to go?"

Clay was quiet, head back, eyes closed. Did he? He wanted to know about the rebels who had taken him and Brock but he didn't feel he needed to be on the mission to get Atwal into CIA custody. He resented Mandy for insisting Bravo do the job because he spoke the language. Was so god-damn fucking tired of being used.

"Clay, what's this about?"

"Mandy only wants Bravo because she doesn't trust interpreters on her pet missions."

"That's true." Brock said slowly. "And Jason never tells her no. But Clay, she knows us so well. Maybe not you, you keep a distance from her, between you. She knows what it means to Jason to get the guy behind our abduction."

"Your abduction." Clay corrected. "At what cost though? I was farmed out and left to hang."

Aah, so Clay did blame Mandy for his torture. They'd - Bravo - had thought so. And he could kinda see why the kid would. He'd been blown up on one of her missions. Drugged stupid and nearly kidnapped on the follow-up op. Left home and then sent with a Marine unit on yet another mission where he was left with out back-up, taken hostage and tortured. Yeah, he could see why Clay was gun-shy about Mandy missions.

"You don't think that's killing her? Wasn't her fault."

Clay chose to ignore that tidbit. Mandy was not his favorite person. "Are you taking an interpreter and going?"

"No." Brock said, laid a hand on Clay's shoulder, gave it a hard squeeze. "We're not."

"Team vote?" He held his breath, didn't know if he wanted to hear the answer. It mattered and it shouldn't. And it bothered him that it did.

"It was. It's not an ordered mission and we're not going with you hurt." Brock said. "No one wants to go without you. Jason made the decision. Charlie's third team can take an interpreter and go."

Clay was quiet, felt a slight thaw in the pit of his stomach. "But there's no hurry, is there?"

Now Brock was quiet. No, there wasn't. Mandy would wait for Bravo if they said they'd go once Spenser could go with them. If he opted for med leave, Mandy would find an interpreter and go with Bravo. She would do everything she could to avoid taking Charlie's third team, but if that was the only option left to her, she'd take it.

"I dunno what's going on in that head of yours, but Clay, you need to get this straight. We're here and we aren't going anywhere. If you can't accept Mandy puts us before the mission, if you can't wrap your head around that, then wrap it around Jason. Base your belief, your trust on that knife wound in your side...take it as the proof it is, that there is no reason we would ever leave you on your own. Build on it. Build a foundation, one stone at a time. Me, Trent, Sonny, Jason, Ray, Blackburn, Davis - we're all stones. We didn't leave you bleeding in the street, we would never do that. Know there is no order we won't disobey, no authority we won't buck, to come get you. Believe it! You hear me? _Believe it_."

Clay looked away, blinked, aww man, his eyes were gonna tear up.

"We will never knowingly leave you behind, never not come get you. Doesn't matter what happened or if you were at fault or the reason shit hit the fan. They didn't stop looking for me in Syria, you're no different." Well, he was, he was their kid. And he always found trouble. "Yeah, we yell at you, we get impatient and we might snap and take your head off, just Clay, it's because you scare the shit out of us. We're freaked Clay and we panic. All training and ability to handle our emotions get blown to hell when you're hurt or lost or taken or drugged and we can't get to you or find you or make your pain go away. Yeah, we're asses when we're frantic, but never, not once is that going to affect what we'll do for you. None of that shit matters, you do...you need to get that."

That did it. Clay sniffed, wiping the back of his hand across his left cheek.

They sat shoulder to shoulder in silence for a bit. Katie came to the glass patio door, waved, tapped her watch. Brock nodded. Right, her way of telling him she thought Clay had been outside long enough.

"Was there a fight at a bar called JoJo's?" Clay asked suddenly, rushed, like he was scared to bring the subject up.

Brock blinked, sat forward. "What did you hear about that?"

"Was there?" And all of a sudden, Clay needed to know. _He had to know_. His entire future with Bravo suddenly depended on it. He didn't know why.

"I wasn't there." Brock said finally. "Was in the hospital with you. It took some digging. Mandy had to call in some favors, Blackburn had to issue some threats, Jason had to kick in some doors, Davis did some dealing, but they got the names of the Marine unit that left you and they, uh, cracked some jaws, skulls."

"By confronting them in a bar?"

"They did."

"And?" Clay pushed. "Why?"

"No one hurts you and gets away with it Clay." Brock gave him an odd look. Did Clay not know that? Did he not understand it? "No one."

"What did they do?"

"Just a fist-fight at a bar." Brock finished his beer, grinned. "Willis left the bar that night head first through a window."

"They were a unit of six. Four of you...?"

"Five." Brock corrected. "Blackburn was with them. Told McCall with two black eyes and one hell of a bruised cheek he had no idea who threw the first punch." Still grinning, he knocked shoulders with Clay.

"McCall accepted that?"

Brock sobered, wow. "No one gets away with hurting you. If that goon hadn't been blown up, he wouldn't have survived to have a trial." He slapped Clay's knee. "The unit was dismantled, Willis was demoted, stripped of rank and reassigned to Austria. Come on, let's go in."

"Who had the clout to make that happen?"

"No one fucks with us." _with you_. Brock stood up. "Five minutes Clay, then I'm dragging you in."

"Ten." Clay promised.

Brock nodded, and went into the house. Cerberus chose to stay with Clay, jumped into Brock's vacated chair.

Clay stared into the flames, mind twirling and swirling. Okay then, he guessed Bravo was family, they had one another's back - his back. Jason trusted him in his house, alone with his kids. Blackburn had a _Marine_ unit dismantled, members demoted and its leader confined to Austria for an entire year. Sonny, Trent and Ray risked their careers to engage in a bar fight after specifically being ordered not to do so again. The whole team had demanded and received retribution. How the hell could he just walk away from that?

He had approved med leave when - if - he wanted it.

When Doc said he could fly, and if Bravo still wanted to go, and Mandy agreed to wait, he guessed he'd be flying to Jordan.


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't like this Jay." Ray was sprawled on his stomach in a steady rain next to Jason. Both used night-vision binoculars to watch activity in the village below….there was none. "Don't like it at all."

Referring to it as a village was stretching the definition: The outskirts of the city Ajloun was maybe ten miles or so away, but this, uh, village was five dirt streets, several 'houses', that was it.

"You think I do?"

You agreed to it, tickled Ray's tongue, but no, he didn't say it. "Country is too populated. People everywhere. The hell are we doing in the countryside of Ajloun?"

"Escorting an apparently unwilling CIA asset out of his cozy, secure home."

"It shouldn't be taking this long." Ray complained. "Mandy didn't have complete info, we should have waited." They had waited, and waited and waited – the weather, Clay.

"HAVOC still has visual on him." Jason adjusted his focus. He wanted to be with Clay, have his back, but the fewer armed military men in the house the better, and Trent was who Clay would need, anything went wrong.

No one was happy with the plan that had been settled on, but it was the one they were doing. Jason was tired of waiting, he wanted Atwal in their custody and he wanted out of this country.

"I get why Clay had to go into the village, he's the only one Atwal can communicate with, but why are we here and not at his back?"

"You, because you have the best shot, sniper Perry." Jason teased. "Trent's with him because if he's going to need anyone, it's going to be Trent."

"Yeah, yeah." Still, Ray thought Jason should be with Clay and Trent, just 'cause, he was, well - Jason. "Still think a team of four should have gone in. Not a team of two. Don't like it."

"Yeah, I get that." Jason snapped. "You've made it clear."

"And yet, you don't listen."

Jason said nothing.

Brock and Sonny were perched nearby but further down the hill and off to the right, closer to the village.

"Beautiful countryside." Sonny mimicked sarcastically. "Awesome hiking trails, lush vegetation. Miz Ellis forgot to say; one road in, backed against a cliff, dense foliage and oh yeah, wet, squishy ground due to recent unusual heavy rainfall. No one said it was Monsoon season. Does Jordan have a Monsoon season? Does this fucking rain ever stop?"

"Davis and Blackburn have eyes on him. He's got a tracking device, he activated his beacon. We can all track him with a phone. Ray's within range, will shoot anything that moves. Support's on the other hill. We're good." Brock wondered if he sounded convincing, didn't think so because Cerberus was antsy, whined softly.

"Then what the hell's taking so long?"

Brock put a hand out to settle the dog, frowned. Cerb was rigid, but not attack-tense. Yes, that made sense to him, might not to anyone else, but he knew his dog and Cerb definitely sensed something was wrong somewhere.

"Something's not right." Brock said to Sonny. "You see anything?"

"You going on the advice of the dog?"

"Yes."

Sonny didn't argue, began a slowly, steady search of the surrounding hill, forest, countryside. If Brock said the dog was telling him something was off, he wasn't going to question it. Cerb's nose and ears had saved their lives multiple times. He might tease about the dog, but he would never dismiss any telltale sign Brock picked up from him – no matter how slight or seemingly ridiculous.

() () ()

Clay shifted impatiently, the hair on the back of his neck itched - the sense of forbidding doom? - and he was tired of arguing with Atwal. Hell, he was just _tired_. Doc had agreed to let him fly out after a week of being home on bed rest - which he'd spent at Brock's - and antibiotics but had strongly advised against it because he hadn't removed the stitches.

Apparently falling out of a hammock onto the steel floor of a military C-17 transport plane, loosened stitches and prevented the wound from healing in the normal amount of text-book stated 'specified time'.

There'd been a hold-up because Jason had insisted on taking their support team with them. No way, no how would he hear arguments about leaving them behind. When Mandy had objected, Jason had shut her down with a hand to her face. And boy, she had not liked that. The argument that had followed had caused Eric to get involved, who after some fast talking and foot stomping, gained approval for support to fly out with them.

Mandy had not been happy Eric had sided with Jason nor had she been thrilled such a large military unit would be landing in Jordan but Jason had said; 'too fucking bad, you don't like it, don't care'.

And then Trent hadn't been happy when Clay had agreed to the mission, had accused him of trying to make everyone happy but himself. Had threatened to have Doc revoke Clay's clearance to fly out. And as close as Trent and Doc were, no one doubted Doc wouldn't obey Trent's request.

That had upset Sonny and Brock until no one wanted to go.

Finally, fever kicked, Clay had medical clearance to fly, but not operate and they'd flown out with their full support team – Doc included. Then once they'd landed, they'd had to wait two days before running the op because of inclement weather, then for Doc to remove Clay's stitches.

But finally, here they were.

He'd tried to keep his discomfort to himself but that was impossible with both the dog who somehow sensed pain and f _eelings_ and a team with a medic who knew him a hell of a lot better than he'd thought they did. Jason had given him the option of remaining with Lisa and Eric; after all, they had brought an interpreter with them, but Clay really didn't want to be around Mandy.

No, he didn't know what sense any of that made. And dammit, he wanted whoever had taken Brock and used him to gain his teammate's cooperation just as badly as Bravo did. This was personal.

"CLAY!" Trent was impatient and anxious, he wanted to leave and was not happy with the delay. "Speed it up."

"Trying!" Clay retorted. "He's not exactly cooperating here Trent."

"Then stand aside and let me beat him into submission."

Ouch.

Atwal was willing to accept their escort and leave the village, but at a price and with stipulations and conditions. Bravo had come expecting to escort one able-bodied male out of the village, hiking in the dark over rough terrain to ground transport – all air transport grounded due to weather – roughly five miles away. Not take along a pregnant woman near her due date and a recalcitrant toddler who had yet to stop screaming bloody murder.

And Atwal flat out refused to leave without them.

"He wants his cat." Clay fiddled with his helmet. The chin strap felt too tight, the pads over his ears made them itch. Huh, was it hot in here? Or was it him?

"A what?"

They hadn't come prepared to carry anyone, had no litter and there was no way she'd be able to hike the distance in her condition. Trent's suggestion of leaving her behind to be retrieved later had been met with angry protests from Atwal followed by an outright-sit-right-down-on-the-floor-refusal-to-leave-at-all moment.

And now this.

Trent's request to knock him out and sling him over a shoulder was denied. Mandy afraid he wouldn't cooperate once in CIA custody. Blackburn's final word had been; only as a last resort. Trent was taking that as permission.

Sonny was going to have a fit when he saw her.

Atwal didn't trust them, was suspicious and spooked easily, only spoke with them because Clay was an American who came bearing both knowledge of the language and a code phrase from Atwal's American government contact. Trent now realized why Mandy had been adamant Brave be the team to escort Atwal. Code phrase or not, it was extremely doubtful Atwal would've trusted an interpreter and he would have up and disappeared. Likely never to be found again.

"Shut that brat up!" Trent hissed to the mother. "Clay!"

Clay translated, explaining that they couldn't call attention to the fact armed American Military were in the home. She tried shushing and calming the child, but had no success.

"I'm gonna dose it with Benadryl." Trent threatened, irritation inching up a notch. He didn't give a damn about the sensitivities or the feelings of Atwal, his wife or the child. His worry was the time they were wasting. He would pull the seniority card, carry Atwal and order Clay to leave the family behind if that kid didn't stop its caterwauling in the next thirty seconds.

The home was small, one story and dark, the only light cast by a weak lantern here and there. Trent didn't like it here. They were exposed and though Bravo and support were nearby and HAVOC had visual on them, if they were ambushed, he and Clay would have to take cover and hold off any attackers until help could arrive.

Yes, it would be instantaneous with Ray high, he didn't miss and Bravo and support would be there within 30 seconds, but still…..he didn't like those odds. Clay wasn't fit and fine. Had been, well, ill. Kinda, sorta, in a way, still was. The stitches out just a day and he hadn't eaten good or slept or exercised much in the last two weeks. He was okay, but not a hundred percent and Trent was torn – which accounted for his shitty mood and attitude – because while he wanted the information Atwal allegedly had, he did not want Clay here.

It would be different if this was a military op where lives depended on them being here, but it wasn't. Anyone could have done this job and because of it, Mandy had managed to divide the team – not against each other, but between their desire to find the men responsible for the abduction of Brock and Clay and, well, Clay.

Any other mission, Clay would be home, no medical clearance to operate, but….but what? They couldn't pick and choose their missions based on their feelings for Clay.

Trent sighed, took a deep breath, moved beyond.

This was no village. It was a strong-hold, a hide-out and if people in the other houses were to wake up and discover American military men in their midst, there would be a gun fight and no one wanted that. Trent was under orders to avoid it.

The mother spoke rapidly. Trent waited, wondered how Clay, though fluent in the language but not native to it, could keep up and understand a word she was saying.

Frustrated, Clay translated. "He wants his blue bunny."

Trent huffed and proceeded to trash the house. A blue bunny had to be a toy, probably a stuffed one. The cat though, was real. And he couldn't that find either.

This, of course, upset Atwal's wife and she followed him throughout the house, clutching at his arm, squawking in outrage as she picked up discarded and flung-aside items, hugged them to her chest then dropped them to retrieve the next tossed object all the while trying to set knick-knacks and dishes back in their rightful place, close drawers and fasten doors to cabinets.

So help him God, Trent was going to strangle Mandy with her fancy, decorative, useless scarf. She should have had intel on a pregnant wife and noisy brat, ehrm,child.

"CLAY!" Trent finally roared, picked the wife up by her shoulders, set her firmly down away from him, kept her at arms length. "Tell her to knock it the fuck off! She's never coming back to this house! It doesn't matter what gets broken!"

Clay translated and that set her off all over again. She abandoned her pursuit of Trent and went after her husband, wailing louder than the child. Atwal, unlike Trent, did not tolerate his wife coming at him, slapped her across the face. She hit the floor, he hit the wall because Clay threw him into it with a tongue-lashing.

Trent cursed, kicked an over-turned chair. What the hell else could go wrong?

She wasn't down and out for long, was up and darting around the house…doing something...what...oh, packing...packing? Oh hell no!

"Clay, tell him he has two minutes to find the cat, the blue rabbit and whatever she can carry out on her back." Trent ordered. "I've had enough."

"Trent, come on man. You're tearing her away from everything she knows and owns."

"Her possessions for our lives? Yeah, not a trade I'm willing to make."

Clay glared, then translated to Atwal, who, after a moment, got up, retrieved an animal carrier, opened the door and set it near the front door. He then went into the bedroom and collected papers, money, other mementos, spoke to his wife and handed her a bag.

She looked at Clay in confusion and he had to tell her she couldn't take anything more than what fit in the bag her husband had handed her. She then began another tirade against her husband, who leery of both Trent and Clay, this time, simply walked away from her.

The child, scared and upset, traumatized by the invasion of strange men, the trashing of his house, his hysterical mother, chose that moment to run towards the back door.

Trent cursed, corralled the woman from giving chase. "CLAY! Get the kid! YOU..."

Clay lunged for the kid, came up short, chased him out the door. Trent stalked the man while dragging the wife, back against the wall. He was done, they were leaving.

"So, help me..."

Jason cackled in his ear, demanding to know what was taking so long. They'd been expected to leave the house a good ten minutes ago.

"Not now." Trent spat. God, he hoped everyone at HAVOC could hear him. He needed both hands to contain the two angry people in the house, he couldn't exactly carry on a cheery conversation with his boss. Cursing, he switched his comm unit to open.

"Bravo four," came Jason's authoritative tone. "Yeah, _now_."

Oh, so _now_ Jason wanted to _command_ him? Fine, FINE!

"He has a _fucking_ pregnant wife JASON!" Trent exploded. "A three-year old brat that won't stop screaming. A cat he won't leave without. Have you **_ever_** tried to find a fucking cat? She's _packing_ and if I can't find a fucking blue rabbit, I'm drugging the little shit. So yeah, how about **_NOT NOW_** _?!_ "

() () ()

Eric, hovering over Lisa's shoulder, looked away from the computer screen; dared, along with Lisa, to take their eyes off the activity shown by ISR, leveled Mandy with looks of disgust and contempt.

"Did you know?" Lisa asked, eyes back on the monitor. "Tell me you didn't know and make me believe it."

"It was rumored he'd taken a wife, never confirmed."

"In three years?" Eric questioned. "You couldn't share that rumor?" Their visual was not clear, hampered by the rain, the buffeting drone, making both Lisa and Eric antsy and irritated.

"Miz Ellis." Sonny drawled. "I don't wanna be seeing you anytime soon." He was itching to head down the hill, enter the house, assist Trent, see Clay with his own two eyes but he needed permission from Jason to do so and as of yet, none had come.

Cerberus went on alert. His nose went in the air and he pawed the ground. No longer calmed by his human's touch, he nudged Brock with his nose, whined.

"What's with him?" Sonny asked.

Brock started to scan the area with his night vision binoculars. He didn't know, but something was out there.

"Sounds like utter chaos." Ray told Jason. They could hear arguing, screams, shouting over Trent's open mic. "Jay? Now? Now would be good."

"Bravo three, Bravo five, secure the house." Jason ordered. Dammit. He paused, then ordered Dutch, on the hill opposite Bravo, the village between them, to take his men and make their way down to assist however they could.

"WHOOP!" Sonny high-fived Brock who was subdued, his attention on the dog.

"Boss?" Brock keyed in. "Be advised, Cerberus is sensing...something."

"Explosives?" Jason questioned.

"Negative."

"Secure the house." Jason repeated. "Use caution."

() () ()

Clay was out the back door, across the sandy, rocky, dirt yard, cursing. How could such a small kid with short legs, run so fast? He wasn't concerned the kid would outrun him, it wasn't possible, but he was still screaming and would soon wake everyone up, if he already hadn't.

"Shit!" He lunged, grabbed the kid by his shirt, felt a pull in his side when the ground beneath his feet suddenly wasn't so firm anymore, shifting his weight sideways. "Shit." He felt the pull on his boots, looked down, sighed. Great, just his luck, he'd gone and stepped in quagmire. Who the hell would build a house so close to a bog?

"Bravo four?" Clay keyed in. "Got a situation out here."

"Bravo six, Support one. We have you in sight. Sit tight."

Jason had given support permission to descend from the hill? Huh. "Roger that."

Atwal who, involved with a hand-flinging, foot-stomping argument with his wife, never saw the slap Trent delivered that rocked him back onto his heels and left him on his ass, coming.

"How's that feel, you ass?"

() () ()

Sonny and Brock fluidly rose to their feet, and with a whistle to Cerberus, set off down the hill. Cerb off leash and ahead of the men who had to pick their way more carefully, stopped, sniffed the air, turned and ran back up the hill.

"He ever do that before?" Sonny came to a halt, asked.

"No." Brock knelt to give the dog attention, checked his paws. Soon as he straightened up, Cerberus barked once and started back up the hill. "Cerb, no. Find Clay."

"I'm thinking..." Sonny paused. "I...is the earth moving under my feet?"

Cerberus erupted into a barking frenzy. Brock looked up at the mountain, at Cerb dancing, then down at the mud beneath his feet.

"Oh that can't be good." Sometimes he felt Cerberus thought him dense, slow and stupid. "Good boy."

"What?" Sonny was impatient, wanted to go forward, cross the field and head down the hill to the village. He finally had the orders he wanted and he couldn't carry them out. He wanted to hit something. Fuck it, he started down the hill at a slow, steady pace and next thing he knew, a heavy thump landed on his back and he was eating mud.

Brock whistled the dog off but Cerb hadn't attacked, he'd just stopped Sonny's forward progress down the hill.

"THE HELL IS WRONG WITH _YOUR_ CRAZY DOG?" Sonny, sprawled on his stomach, spat mud, pushed up, paused. "Is...this...mud?" He looked down at a tug on his hands, he was sliding. He looked up the hill, looked down at the village. The very ground they were on was now slimy muck. "Brock? Was there a creek here five seconds ago? Am I moving? I'm moving! I don't want to move!"

He flailed, scrambled for his knees. Brock got a firm hold on Sonny's vest, dragged him backwards and with a loud, sucking, _SQUELCH_ , the mud released its hold on Sonny and they both sprawled on firmer ground some several yards further down the hill from where Cerberus had knocked Sonny to the grass.

"THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT?" Sonny yelled. "JESUS CHRIST!" He panted. His breath had taken flight, must still be in the mud because it hit him just how close he'd been to stepping off firm ground into an unseen river of mud and muck and he couldn't draw in deep breaths. "Hey Cerb, atta boy. Thank you little dude." He buried his face against the thick, wet fur around Cerb's neck, gave his nose a loud, smacking kiss.

He wasn't all that concerned about the possible harm to himself. No, he was more worried, pissed that had he fallen into whatever the fuck that silent, but moving mush was, Bravo would have had to rescue him – if possible – and wouldn't have eyes on Clay.

"Buy you a steak." He told Cerberus, accepted Brock's hand, rose to his feet. "What the...hell is that?"

Cerberus took off at a run towards Jason and Ray.

Brock shoved Sonny. "LEFT! GO LEFT!" He yelled because Cerberus went left, and he trusted the dog to know the way to safety. And if he did, it was neither downhill nor across the field that, within two seconds was a slow-flowing river of mud that was fast gaining speed and volume.

Sunny didn't argue, took off at a run after Cerberus, Brock on his heels.

"What's that?" Ray raised his head from the bincoculars. He was on his belly, but Jason, who was standing on a rock, didn't feel the ground shimmy beneath him. "Jay? You feel that?"

Jason didn't, but swiveled his head to look in the direction Ray was staring. His binoculars easily picked up Sonny and Brock running parallel from their location towards them. He also noticed, bless night vision, how shadows quivered and shimmied and when he swung the binoculars up hill, saw the river of flowing mud.

River, because though not an actual river, there was no other word for the rush of water, mud, slime and muck.

"Fuck!" He jumped down, grabbed Ray by the collar on his coat, dragged him backwards. Ray clung to his gun, scrambled to gain his knees. He didn't see the falling mountain of mud, but he trusted his boss and went with him without protest.

Ray looked up, saw behind them, a rock cliff that Jason was heading towards. To the right, was a forest of trees and rocks that provided obstacles the river of mud and water split and went around, spreading out further than it would have had it been able to navigate downhill unimpeded.

"No." Ray said stupidly. "No."

"BOSS?!" yelled Sonny.

"WOOF!" Cerberus herded Sonny and Brock up and left and around to the firm rocky ground both Jason and Ray safely perched on. "WOOF!"

() () ()

Trent finally gained control of the chaotic activity in the house. He held the wife with a hand over her mouth, her head tilted back against his shoulder. Trent didn't have the time or the patience to be all nice and understanding. They had to go.

Atwal remained still and silent at Trent's defensive stance even though Trent held no weapon on either him or the wife.

The cat, as cats do, somehow materialized in his comfy carrier with a lazy yawn and smoldering stare. Atwal closed the door to the cage, picked it up, stood waiting at the door.

"…situation out here." Clay cackled in Trent's ear followed by Dutch. Trent wanted to howl in outrage, wanted to abandon Atwal and the wife and bolt out the door, but training and orders were strongly ingrained. He simply threw his hands up, grabbed Atwal by the shoulder and shoved him and the cat out the door, dragged the wife behind him.

Blackburn came across comms, reported that the surrounding land to the West had become unstable under heavy rains, was a mud bog, not safe to cross.

Ya think, Blackburn?

Trent lowered his night vision goggles. "CLAY?"

Members of support surrounded him. Trent let them take the wife, hesitated when asked if they should bound Atwal, saw Clay standing knee deep in mud that he wouldn't be able to get out of without help, one hand holding the kid, the other against his side, fighting to keep his feet, and nodded.

"Clay? You ok?" Trent asked. Including Dutch, support was a team of eight. Two secured Atwal, two assisted the wife, the other four joined Trent as they attempted to come up with a plan to extract Clay, who if he moved or tried to step out of it, sank deeper and was slowly moving away from the house with the current of the flowing mud.

"Good defense for the village." Someone commented.

"Long as it rains."

"Is it Spring over here?"

Holding the kid, kicking and screaming, tucked under one arm, Clay felt the earth beneath him slowly giving way. The GPS tracking device was his watch, had technology, the ability to transmit to all Bravo cell and satellite phones. The beacon would transmit his location for up to three hours. That too, could be tracked by all of Bravo.

He would have to trust they would find him.

"CLAY?! DAMN YOU! DON'T YOU DARE!" Trent yelled. "DO NOT THROW THAT KID!"

But he would and Trent knew it. Even as he said it, Clay juggled the kid around until he held him by the ankles, tossed him at Trent who caught him and promptly dropped him safely in the arms of Kenny, wanting to hold Clay, not the screaming little brat.

It was the last time Trent saw Clay.

He didn't sink, he didn't fall. No, a wall of water silently swept him away.

Trent stood, hands on his hips, looking at the river of water, mud, debris, slime…..shook his head. Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

No need to panic. Clay was an excellent swimmer. They'd pick him up down the hill a ways. Trent thought the same thing Clay had: He had both a tracking device and a beacon that was activated and both could be tracked by any member of Bravo with a cell or satellite phone. They would know where he was and simply just go get him.

Trent cast a glance at the sky. When was anything ever simple when it involved Clay?

***000***

The last thing Clay remembered was the taste of mud.  
The next thing he remembered was pain.  
Flesh-eating, breath-stealing, scream-inducing – pain.

He jerked awake, awash in agony. He flailed, striking out but he was uncoordinated and he'd either lost his breath or he'd used it all screaming because no matter how hard he panted, how many times he gasped, he _could not_ breathe.

Voices buzzed and hummed but he couldn't make out words or whether whoever was speaking was male or female. Didn't matter because he didn't know where he was or what had happened. He swore his eyes were open, but the room – he thought it was a room – was too dim to make out objects. Shadows wavered and loomed and shrank, viewed through a red haze of pain and panic. Huh, maybe they weren't.

He tried to sit up, was either denied or he didn't have the strength to succeed. So he tried to roll but again, met with failure. He couldn't swing a fist - couldn't even make a fist - thought he could, did, but no. Couldn't pull his knees up or shift his weight or do anything to alleviate the searing fire that burned his side from his armpit to his hip.

He lingered between the state of not awake, not unconscious. Couldn't let go, couldn't pull himself out of it. His mind, his thoughts wandered, tried to recall how he had ended up in…..you know, Hell.

God, he was hot. Christ, he was burning up. Mother-humper his side was roasting…

Much like a TV from the 70's when the dot appeared in the middle of the screen and grew until the picture filled the screen when turned on and shrank from full screen to a dot when turned off; the red haze faded, blackness descended and gradually his vision was reduced to a single dot before it winked out completely.


	5. Chapter 5

Woot!

Supernatural season 15! Wheeeeee…..now come on CBS, gimme season 3 of SEAL Team.

And FYI, not an expert on GPS and hiking beacons...go with it people!

* * *

"Bravo four, report." Jason ordered, standing on rocky, firm ground. Soon, they'd have to move East, more of a precaution than a necessity. They'd have to rely on HAVOC to find them, if possible, a way down to the village - that was, if the village remained. "Bravo six?"

Everyone had heard Trent yell at Clay, but no one, not even anyone from Support had spoken since. All that could be heard over Trent's open mic was static.

"HAVOC?" Jason cursed, the rain had intensified, the wind had picked up and for some reason, with the mountain now moving, visibility had become non-existent. "Do you have eyes on them?"

"Bravo one, HAVOC, Support one. Package secure." Dutch keyed in. "HAVOC, do we have a clear way to transport?"

No one did really. It was a five mile hike and the terrain and ground was simply too unstable for anyone to safely navigate with a mountain of moving mud. But at least there wasn't a sea of mud between Support and transport like there was between Bravo and transport.

"Unless your, uh, package can navigate, rough, uncertain and unstable terrain in the dark." Davis offered. "That's a negative. Bravo, your descent off the mountain is not advised. Support, you need to move East."

"Or be carried." Blackburn added. "Bravo, stay put until we can get you out of there."

They'd come by truck, then hiked because air clearance had been denied.

"Not staying here Boss." Sonny told Jason. Brock nodded. Cerberus stood, tail wagging.

"Woof!"

Dutch conferred with his men and Trent. "Permission to proceed East?"

"Support one? Status of Bravo four and Bravo six?" Jason demanded, sharing a look with his men. Cerberus whined, doggy-shook, sprayed water and mud everywhere. No matter, they were all drenched anyway.

"Yeah, Jace." Emotional if calm, Trent radioed in without thought to using names. "Gonna need you down here."

"SONOFABITCH!" Sonny shouted. "THE HELL?!"

Jason sighed, waved Sonny silent. "Status?"

If Mandy had known Atwal had information she was willing to extract him from his home over, she damn well should have known about a pregnant wife and kid. Trent wasn't going to speak to her for a month.

"We begged a fortune for this technology to track him, here's putting to the test how good it is." Trent said finally. "I lost him."

"Bravo four," Eric began, paused, let off the mic. "That fucking beacon better work under water." He growled to Lisa, who nodded - snow, mud, eh. Avalanche beacon it may be, but it was military grade and transmitting strongly despite the mud and water and debris and rain and wind and...whatever else.

"It does, but..." Lisa sighed. The beacon would transmit a signal even if the GPS couldn't, but it had a limited range and short battery life. "Three hour battery life. Already been an hour…."

"Bravo, be advised, the mudslide has taken out roads, blocked access. Local emergency services are being dispatched to assist villagers." Eric said. "Four, your progress in pursuit of six is severely impeded and not advised."

"I'm going." Trent stated emphatically, dared anyone to deny him permission. Not advised did not mean permission denied.

"Not alone you aren't." Eric stressed. "Sit tight until I can get Bravo to you."

Trent looked at Kenny and Karl, who nodded in answer to his silent question. Dutch sighed, waved them off. His team of six could get Atwal and his family to safety.

"Blackburn, you aren't letting Support handle the package alone, are you?" Mandy asked.

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Dutch has a team of eight, he'll get your package out." He dared her to argue, just stared and dared. She backed down with a nod, though she wanted to inform Eric his team's job was to escort her asset to the Air Base, not chase after their again wayward rookie.

Eric understood, he did. Had Support not been on the mission, Bravo's job and priority would have been the package.

"Team of six." Trent corrected. "Kenny and Karl are with me." He switched his comm off open. "Dutch? You good?"

Dutch would do his job, but yeah, he kinda would rather search for Clay. Wasn't going to happen though, and he knew that.

"Just...what are the chances? Come to escort one man out of a village and it's suddenly wiped out by a mudslide. In Ajloun? Really?" Dutch was shaking his head. "And out of us all, just guess _who_ goes missing?"

"Yeah, well, blame the intel." Karl muttered. "Or lack of it."

Oh, Trent did.

"East it is." Dutch said. "We'll need to scout the ground ahead of us."

"Carry her if you have to. Rig a litter with blankets, a mattress." Trent didn't intend to stay around and help. He wanted to get going.

Dutch nodded, set three of his men to the task, radioed HAVOC for status on transport.

They stood in the shadows, shielded from view of the other houses, but people were outside, moving around, discovering the only road out of the village was blocked by a sea of mud and debris. Panic and hysteria would soon set in among the locals. Support had to go. They all did.

"Did the village flood? Become buried?" Ray asked. "What about other villages? Ajloun? Anyone coming to rescue them? Gonna need heavy equipment to move that mud. We don't want to be there."

"Still here." Dutch replied. "The flow is behind the last street, might spread out, dunno."

"You can't be there." Mandy chimed in.

"We're not getting off this mountain by going down." Ray replied. "Easiest way for us to go is up."

"Transport is on the other side of the village from where we are." Sonny fumed.

They all knew that, still, no one liked hearing it.

"Air wasn't - isn't approved." Mandy replied. "Local rescue will have flight clearance. Hike East."

"I'll get it." Eric announced firmly, gave Mandy a look. "Not leaving a multi-million dollar team out there."

"They make transport, they can drive out." She shot back.

Eric stared at her, nodded at Davis who gave him a thumb's up. "Support one, proceed with package to transport. Bravo, permission to retrieve Six granted. Sending you coordinates for what appears to be a safe descent off the mountain. You'll have to detour, go up, backtrack, but we'll get you down."

Jason looked at Cerberus who was giving them that 'humans are dumb look'.

"Not waiting." Trent keyed in.

"HAVOC, dog's got something. Coordinates came through, we're on the move."

Support headed towards transport. Trent, Kenny and Karl started to follow the flow of the moving mud. Bravo began to pick their way down the hill.

() () ()

Trent's progress to retrieve Clay with Kenny and Karl? Yeah, so slow going, it barely happened. Too many times, they were forced to divert, stop, backtrack, poke the ground with sticks and still, they were no closer to reaching Clay then they'd been an hour ago when they'd started out.

At least Dutch had informed them Support's progress to transport was moving along quite well with little issues.

"Yeah, Trent, unless you want to just jump in the middle of...of...that," Kenny waved an arm out over the - well, that, "see where the current takes you, we're pretty much stuck here." He offered apologetically.

Trent nodded absently, eyes on his cell phone, switching between the two apps that transmitted the signals from Clay's tracking devices. The beacon would last another hour or so, but it didn't really matter because Clay was above ground. GPS came through strong and clear. So, there was that.

"Sir?" Lisa called for Eric's attention. "Do you see this?"

"What?"

"Clay's GPS. It was steady, then stopped, like he'd stopped moving, now..."

Eric looked over her shoulder. "He appears to be moving awfully fast now." Eric said. "Is that right? Is this supposed to tell us that?"

Lisa nodded. "I don't think the mud could carry him that fast."

"Get Randy in here." Eric ordered someone. He didn't look, knew his orders would be obeyed. "If this technology is shit..."

"Davis?" Trent keyed in. "You tracking him?"

"Yeah Bravo four, we're on it. Stand by."

Randy, Support's 2IC, entered the command center in less than a minute. "Commander Blackburn, Sir?"

"You're the tech whiz. This is your program. Make me understand it." Eric ordered.

Randy nodded, took that as permission to be at ease. He pulled up a chair next to Lisa and sat down. "Right, the GPS, let's see, I can back up, pick up where...see? Here's where he left the village...this, the beacon shows interference by the water...GPS still working fine. That's great, pings off cell towers, can switch to satellite, you need to, technology is awesome, isn't it? Yeah...oh." He stopped typing, was quiet. "Yeah, uh, see this?"

"Yeah, it's why you're here." Lisa snapped, then put a hand on his shoulder in apology. Randy nodded, squeezed her hand. He understood.

"He was picked up." Randy explained. "See, this tells you he's in a moving vehicle."

"Say what?" Eric blurted. "Chopper?"

"No, ground." Randy pointed to the screen. "This would indicate he was airborne. Any coffee?" He was gonna be here a while. "See, it works like this."

"Right." Eric sighed. Things just got more complicated. Bravo was stuck immobile on the ground in a mudslide, the ground all around them unstable and the object of their foot chase was now in a moving vehicle. Just fucking great. Oh yeah, air was definitely needed and he knew just how to get it. "I'll be back."

"Think rescue workers found him?" Lisa asked Randy. "Can't decide if that's a good thing."

Randy nodded. "Would make sense. Which means, somewhere, he'll end up at a local clinic or aid station." He paused, looked at her, much more comfortable with her now then he'd ever been. "What? Not good?"

Lisa sucked her breath in, shook her head. "I'm **not** telling Trent that." She shuddered. "You know what he thinks about medical care over here in the Middle East."

Randy gave her a grin, handed her the phone to connect to Bravo's comm's.

***000***

Dr. Omar had long ago given up trying to convince people he had a surname, Dr. Omar he was. Few things shocked him, but the man that had just been carried in to his 'clinic' was an American soldier, and yeah, he was stunned that such a man had been pulled out of the mud. What the hell was he doing here? Not, here in his clinic - after all, they were in the middle of a natural disaster - but here in Ajloun?

Didn't matter, the man breathed, therefore he would receive care. He was unconscious and did not even so much as flutter an eye or twitch a finger as he was quickly stripped of his gear, equipment, helmet and clothes. Everything was piled in a corner and covered with a sheet. Wouldn't do to let others see those weapons. Wouldn't do at all.

Dr. Omar hated guns, hated war, hated violence but he would not deny this man care.

Though, soon, Clay would wish that he had.

The fist-sized, swollen knot on his head behind his right eye proved the helmet had done its job because his skull wasn't split open. He'd likely wake up with one hell of a headache though. Concussions were not something Dr. Omar was familiar with, so yeah, his patient would have a 'bad headache'.

The gaping 'hole' on his hip required stitches - no big deal. Dr. Omar could sew.

Had Dr. Omar known this soldier wasn't in the country alone; known that he had a team and they would soon come looking for him because they wanted him back, he would not have treated this particular patient. American soldiers were not known for their compassion, understanding or patience and oh, they did not like one of their own being taken from them.

But Clay didn't wake up and since Dr. Omar remained unaware of the tracking devices steadily transmitting the signal of Clay's whereabouts, this soldier was about to receive the best care available.

In Trent's opinion, it would be rudimentary care at best. Dr. Omar didn't know it, but once Trent saw the level of 'care' Clay had received and managed to get his hands on the good doc, it would take both Jason and Sonny to pull him off.

Dr. Omar reached for his bottle of antiseptic/disinfectant.  
Clay lay quietly, still unconscious.  
Dr. Omar generously poured his liquid cure-all directly from the bottle onto Clay's side.  
Clay reacted instantly - jerked, flailed, cried out.  
Dr. Oman sighed, shook his head. These American's were such wusses. He poured more.  
Clay screamed, pulled away. Was held down.  
Dr. Omar decided, with all the flailing and crying, to wait before sewing the wound closed.  
Clay was stirring, brought around by his body's natural reaction to pain.  
A foul-smelling cloth was held against his mouth and nose.  
Dr. Omar pushed the edges of the wound apart.  
Clay tensed, pushed with a hand, went limp with a cloth-muffled groan.  
Dr, Omar paid no mind to blood, dirt, mud, debris, germs, bacteria.  
Clay stirred with a yelp at the stinging, sudden burn.  
Dr. Omar packed the wound with white-mesh wads of gauze.  
Clay passed out.  
Dr. Omar left instructions for the wound to be doused with the disinfectant every 15 minutes until the redness abated and left.

***000***

"Chuck," Eric pulled up a chair, sat down, joined Chuck, Greg, Chris, Seth, Matt, Jeff; all members of Bravo Support in the cafeteria at the Air Base. The Tier Two team of Bravo: pilot, co-pilot, driver, mechanic, gunner, medic.

"Commander." Chuck put his fork down, waited.

"CH-47F chopper?" It wasn't yet dawn, but breakfast was being served. Eric helped himself to toast off someone's plate.

"I can fly it," was his response. He could fly anything and he was teaching Greg how to do the same. No hesitation, no doubt, all confidence.

Eric shook his head, how did Jason find these people? Whatever he needed, wanted, required, bam, there it was: pilot, driver, gunner, EOD, doctor, mechanic, computer hacker, dog.

"Howlin' Mad Murdock, eh?" Eric teased, sobered. "How do you feel about stealing one?"

Chuck was quiet. He was being asked unofficially to retrieve Bravo. There was no decision to make. "Gimme thirty minutes."

"No clearance." Eric warned. "Wind, rain, fog."

Chuck nodded. He could fly by instruments alone.

"Landing might be impeded. Mudslides, bogs, quagmire, flooding."

Chuck nodded. He could hover as long as needed for Bravo to load up, no matter the conditions or terrain.

"Don't yet know here I need you to go."

Chuck nodded. Destination never an issue.

Eric stood up. "I don't have official clearance to send a retrieval unit."

Chuck nodded. His trust in Eric and Jason was firm and complete.

"Randy's in Command with Davis, tracking Spenser. He won't be going with you."

Chuck nodded and Eric walked away.

The loyalty to Jason Hayes was astounding. That Jason could find such men was unbelievable, yet here he was, walking away from the proof. He shook his head, kept walking. There would never be a mission, a time, Chuck would ever tell Jason no. If retrieving Bravo meant a chance - however slim - of their survival, Chuck would go. He'd either die trying or return successful.

"Jesus Chuck, I've never flown...I mean...I don't think…it's exfil...unofficial, isn't it?" Greg dug deep, blew his breath out. Right, no wishy-washiness on Bravo. "Why such a big bird?"

"Probably the only one Blackburn could arrange for me to, uh, find." Chuck ate a piece of bacon. "I'd guess smaller crafts are doing rescue trips of civilians."

"Won't we be?" Jeff asked quietly. "We get Bravo back here, we can go help. We'll have the bird."

"Wonder why no one has already taken it to help." Matt said aloud.

Chuck forked some hash browns. They were soggy but had a taste of bacon...yum. "No one to fly it." He answered simply. "Dunno where the Base pilots are...someone here has to be her pilot."

"There's you?"

"Not officially here."

***000***

Clay stirred with a groan...holy fuck...what the hell? He was on fire...he was on a spit, roasting...his whole side burned. Someone should turn him, toast his other side. Shit, he hadn't felt this bad when he'd been blown up! He tried to shift his weight, ease the pressure off his right hip but he couldn't move. Oh right, yeah, he was skewered on a spit.

Not good.

His throat was dry, he wanted something to drink. His lips were cracked, split. He could peel layers of skin from his bottom lip with his teeth, he wanted lip balm. Neither came. He felt wet. Was dirty, dry, itchy...he was used to his wants and needs being seen to, catered to, taken care of. Where was Trent?

Don't panic. Do not panic. Think. Remain calm and think. Remember...

 _He'd tossed the kid, Trent had caught him and...and...a rush of water and mud had swept him off his feet._

 _He hadn't wanted to eat mud or swallow water, had spit it out, but he couldn't swim in mud, he'd tried and he'd sunk. No amount of thrashing, kicking, walking or swimming had carried him towards firm ground. When the current had begun to move faster, it was all he could do to keep his head above water, he'd gone with the flow. Haha._

 _The weight of his backpack, ammo vest, helmet had dragged him down. He'd grabbed for any piece of wood or debris or tree or rock that he passed, hoping to anchor himself to one place while he hung out and waited for Bravo to, you know, come along and pick him up. But no. What he'd managed to grab, either gave way from his added weight or wasn't anchored to anything to begin with._

 _The falling mountain of muck had to deposit him somewhere, didn't it? There were two major rivers in Jordan. Were they near either of them? The country was land-locked, right? Maybe? Yeah. No, the Dead Sea was somewhere on the border of this country. Right? Dear God, would he be swept out to sea?_

 _And how long would it take for Bravo to come get him? Brock had said they would. Always would. So, he'd wait._

 _If, you know, he didn't drown or suffocate before then._

 _There'd been rocks ahead, part of a rocky cliff that weren't going to move. He was either going to slam right into them or divert around them. The choice wasn't his to make._

 _His helmet was no match for either the force which he was thrown against the rocks, or their sheer size. It did save his life though, taking the blunt of the impact rather than his head._

 _Mud was in his eyes, up his nose, in his mouth. Despite his efforts, he swallowed it. He hurt, he couldn't see, couldn't breathe..._

His eyes were crusty and sore. Felt like they'd been glued, eyelash to eyelash.

He was still, didn't move, just waited. His hearing was slow to return, but return it did. He picked up the hum of voices in a language he knew, but wasn't his. He tried to follow the conversation, but the voices were too distant and too low for him to make out words.

He raised his hands to dig at his eyes but only one hand obeyed his mental command to move – his left. Great.

Was he tied? Chained? Somehow restrained? He forgot about this glued-shut eyes.

He raised his head. Tried to. His neck muscles didn't want to cooperate, his head too heavy for them to hold. His head rested on something that was supposed to be soft, probably was to whoever these people were, but wasn't to him.

Unable to see, move his head or his right hand, he explored with his left hand: No helmet, no backpack, no ammo vest, no Kevlar…hell, he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Did he have pants? He moved his left leg, his right balked, was able to raise his left knee. No, not tied down. And no pants but his thumb snapped the elastic waist band of his boxer briefs. Well, that was something. At least he wasn't lying here, unable to move one side of his body, naked.

He needed to get up, move. Find...find...well, find something. He rubbed his left arm against an itch. He pretty much itched everywhere. And what was that smell?

Oh look, his watch was still on his wrist. Thank God. Were his pants far away? That should matter. It did matter. Why did it matter?

Some water and maybe a wet cloth would help clear his aching head, go a long way to helping him clear his thoughts and gain some sort of control but neither was offered. It dawned on him that even though he was alone and not restrained, the voices he heard distant, he simply could not get up.

Try as he might, he could not focus, could not concentrate. Could not make himself sit up, get up or even pick his head up. He wanted to, he needed to, but it was beyond him.

Sleep then. Perhaps after some sleep, he would feel stronger, more alert. He had a cell phone and a satellite phone somewhere. A comm's unit. He wasn't alone, just adrift. He wanted something to drink, a wet cloth to sooth his burning eyes and though he managed to moisten his tongue and lips, he could not make a sound. His throat rebelled, burned, screamed, hurt so badly, he gave up.

Christ, he wished he could see clearly. If only his vision would suddenly come into focus...someone was next to him, speaking Arabic, well, okay, he spoke that language: he asked for water, a wet cloth, his pants, his phone...was ignored.

Oh no, Dr. Omar had not left any instructions other than to cleanse the wound on his side with the disinfectant and that was all the fourteen year old girl was going to do.

And no, it didn't matter how many times the man told her no in her own language. Every fifteen minutes, on the dot, she doused him.

Again, Clay was awakened, brought around by fire exploding in his right side. Again, he came to with a scream, flailing at the pain that curled his toes and ran the entire length of his right side. Again, he was left alone in misery. Again, he passed out.

***000***

Bravo was roughly an hour behind Trent. They finally made it to the village and had to decide whether to head for transport and hope they caught Support before they left or trail after Trent in hopes they'd be able to reach Clay.

Sonny put Cerberus on his feet. The dog had gamely trooped on, but once the mud had become knee deep, they'd had to carry him. He immediately began to sniff and smell, Brock let him go, wanted to see what, if anything, he'd find.

"Jay? What you thinking?" Ray asked. They were in constant communication with HAVOC and Trent. "We can probably make transport."

"Yeah." Jason drank water. They were taking a break. People waited on walls, in some cases roofs, helped one another, but in reality, there wasn't really anywhere they could go.

"Jason, man, come on." Ray said quietly. "I want to go after him as much as you do, but look around you. How? Let's get to transport, go back to the Base, we need air."

"Blackburn said he'd get it." Jason said, pulled his phone out, the app was already open and running. "That little blip. The damn arrow. He's like, right there and yet...he's not."

"We'll get him." Ray nudged Jason, nodded at Brock. "What's with him?"

Brock paced, stalked, pivoted, stalked. Cerberus padded patiently beside him, whined sympathetically, nudged his nose into Brock's hand, trotted on.

What now? Jason didn't need anyone's attitude. Brock had been against this mission from the start. Had said so in front of everyone at the briefing. Hell, he'd walked out of the briefing - twice.

"Brock? Something on your mind? Something you want to tell me?" Jason poured water into a collapsible bowl for the dog. "You okay?"

Brock stopped, appeared on the verge of speaking, turned away. He took a few steps but didn't resume pacing, didn't leave. He turned to face his team, turned away, ran a hand threw his hair. Remained silent.

Cerberus though, barked and yipped, told them the whole story in dog-speak. Unfortunately, the only person who understood him, was the same man who already knew the story and wasn't sharing.

Ray looked at Jason, held his gaze. They waited.

"He asked for and received, med leave." Brock said finally, fondled the dog's ears.

"He what?" said Jason.

"You serious?" asked Ray.

"He didn't want to come on this mission. He has an Aunt, Ash's sister, in Kentucky, Doc gave him 12 weeks."

"The hell's up his ass?" Sonny spit out. "The fuck is wrong with that kid?"

"He's had a pretty rough year Sonny. What he's lost? Who?" Brock said defensively. "He, uh, feels...I dunno. He's tired, thinks we get mad at him, always yell at him. He talked about standing down." Ray winced, they all caught it, let it go. "A string of missions in a row were all Mandy pet missions. He got hurt on every one and he feels she used him because of his language skills. I couldn't deny that, 'cause she did."

"We're right here! Talk to us!" Sonny groused. He wanted to bellow, but...yeah, not the place.

"I'm on that." Jason said. "Already talked to Blackburn, she's going on an intel mission that won't include us."

"For how long?" Ray asked.

"Six months."

"Wow." Ray hadn't expected that. Jason was partial to Mandy.

"He heard about JoJo's. I told him, we would never not go get him." Brock said. "We would always have his back, and now, first mission out, he's out there and we're...we're not."

"We're going, just delayed." Ray said. "These people Brock..."

"Aren't our problem."

"Brock, come on." Ray said. "His beacon is still transmitting, we know where he is..."

"But is he ok?" Brock countered. "He's outside, wet, cold. Could be hurt, we don' know."

"Bravo, be advised, the local emergency rescue efforts have taken anyone found to a clinic set at the following coordinates." Lisa came over comm's. "Both Six's beacon and GPS tracker pinpoint him at that location."

"That's good, right?" Sonny said dubiously to Jason. Trent's horrified gasp and curse heard over comm's told them just how not good it was. "No? What?"

"How many friggin' times have I said it?" Trent snapped irritably. "Medical care over here is barbaric."

"What's the worse they could do?" Kenny asked, just 'cause, you know, he could.

"Kill him." Trent retorted.

"Bravo, stand by." Lisa said. "There is no safe way for forward progress. You're going nowhere."

"Bravo one." Eric added seconds later. "We have a lock on your current location. Chuck's eta is twenty mikes. Bravo four, stand by for retrieval after Bravo."

"Roger that." Jason ordered. "Have him bring that interpreter."

"You and me." Sonny waggled a finger between him and Brock. "This ain't over. We're gonna have a chat about what all the kid blabbed to you. No beer involved."

Brock nodded, eyes locked with Ray.

***000***

She came at him again...so small, such a frail little thing and Clay couldn't even roll away from her or raise a hand to stop her.

Every Single Fucking Time he managed to gulp his breathing into a normal rhythm, stop panting, stop _screaming_...she was back and tortured him all over again.

Either she didn't understand his rasped words: no, don't, stop, please, spoken in her own language or he was speaking English. Or maybe she was made of stone and capable of ignoring his begging. Hell, maybe he wasn't even speaking at all. He didn't know anymore. He was so thirsty, his throat so dry and raw, he was disoriented. He wanted - _needed_ \- water.

But that spoken request was ignored as well.

He felt her hand on his chest, tensed. Knew what coming, tried to take a deep breath, couldn't...breathing hurt and he was panting again, his chest heaving while his lungs struggled to take in air...and then he was screaming again as his side was lit on fire.

***000***

Picked up, flown and dropped off at the location where Clay's transmitters pinpointed his exact location, Bravo and Support, minus Chuck and Greg spread out and took the 'clinic'.

People were everywhere, either waiting their turn to see the doctor, searching for family or just taking refuge in a safe place. Help would soon arrive. Humanitarian aid workers would soon be there, Blackburn had assured Bravo. Part of the deal for being allowed to 'steal' the chopper was to lend Chuck and Greg to the relief efforts once all Bravo was safely at the Air Base.

Leaving Trent behind to help the doctor until the relief workers arrived wasn't an option when Trent wanted to, you know, murder the poor man. That was, if they ever found him. However, Jeff and Support would remain to aid the medical staff at the clinic.

"Jesus Christ." Ray muttered.

He knew they must look a sight to these scared, stressed, traumatized people. They were in full gear, carrying guns, wearing helmets, wet and muddy, looked very large and intimidating with a raving dog, but really, there was no need to shrink back in fear or cower with their heads covered. Really.

"This way." Sonny said, cell phone in hand. "Not too far now."

"God, hope to hell they didn't separate him from his clothes." Brock muttered, Cerb on a leash barking his head off. He kept trying to go faster than Brock could go through the throng of people.

"Let him go." Jason ordered. Brock hesitated, then unclipped the leash.

Cerb started off at a dash, stopped, looked back, barked.

"Go!" Brock waved him on. "Find Clay."

Cerberus was gone before Brock finished saying Clay's one-syllable name.


	6. Chapter 6

Our show will be back soon in their new time slot...10 o'clock...don't know how I feel about that. Boo...or...Woot?  
Now, in the meantime, how about it CBS? Give me my renewal!  
I've had David Boreanaz on my TV since my husband girl-crushed Willow on Buffy...not ready to give him up yet.

* * *

The activity within the walls of the clinic was loud, noisy and chaotic. Bravo and Support, along with the interpreter, totaled a troop of twelve men tromping and pushing their way through the crowded halls of shoulder to shoulder people with little regard to who it was they moved out of their way.

Their goal? Find Clay Spenser.

Their tech whiz kept yakking in their ears that he was there, they were close, they'd have him in their sights any second now.

Davis reported Dutch and his team would soon make it safely to transport, Chuck would pick them up, return them to the Air Base, refuel and then return for Bravo.

The uproar over the Air Base's missing chopper had been resolved when Blackburn promised that once Chuck returned Bravo to the Air Base, he and Greg would continue rescue efforts with the chopper with all of Support as her crew.

Sonny promised the Good Lord a week - no, a month - of sobriety and good deeds to old people if Bravo walked into the room and found their youngest chatting up some young lady or entertaining a child with card tricks. Promised him a week of drunken slothfulness irritating every public retail worker he encountered if they didn't.

He was planning what booze to buy; the cheapest to give him the desired numbness.

Jason barked at the interpreter who was not accustomed to field work. He was used to sitting with Mandy in the comfort and safety of an interrogation room. He did his best to translate and keep up with the orders and commands coming at him from every direction by everyone, but yeah, he floundered.

And that pissed Jason off and a pissed off Jason made everyone teeter on the edge.

"Randy?" Ray keyed in. "How accurate is this tracker? Is it to the block? The building? The room? Clay?"

"It will take you straight to _exactly_ where the trackers are." Randy replied evasively. Lisa gave him a patient smile.

Meaning, it would only take them to Clay if Clay still had the tracking devices with him.

Brock pushed ahead of Jason who trailed behind Sonny who led the way. He understood technology and he was grateful they had it, but Cerberus was barking just ahead…..and he was in a frenzy.

Jason stood sideways, let Brock pass him, slightly annoyed with the man. He agreed with Sonny. They were all going to have one hell of a conversation with Brock over what Clay had confided to him.

And soon. Like on the flight home, soon.

"Here." Brock pointed just as Sonny pointed and said, "There."

Same doorway.

"Bravo, you're there." Randy was saying. HAVOC didn't have eyes in the clinic, but he was able to trace and track any cell or satellite phone anyone on Bravo carried with them. "He's right in front of you."

Finally!

The team parted, took opposite sides of the door, waited while Ray counted to three then rushed the open doorway.

They were not met with resistance.

Nor the much desired sight of Clay.

The room was empty except for a barking, tail-wagging Cerberus standing guard over a pile of rags on the floor. They all filed in, milled around. The room was small and with twelve large men crowding the space, there was little room to move about.

The table in the middle of the room did not hold who they were looking for. It didn't hold anyone. Or anything.

Jason raised a fist, and Support, along with the interpreter stepped from the room into the hallway, where they either stood guard, began an inspection of nearby rooms or searched the hallway.

After a quick visual survey of the room, they focused their attention on a sheet-covered pile in the corner. Ray yanked the sheet free: Clay's clothes, equipment and gear sat neatly on a chair. Even his weapons.

"Woof!" _no humans, not over there. Over here!_

Trent reached for the helmet, Sonny searched the pants for the beacon, found it. Jason took the vest and weapons and handed all into the secure hands of Kenny.

"Okay, so where the fuck is he?" Sonny asked frustrated. "Dammit!"

"Woof!" _me, see me? He's here. Right here!_

"He's there." Randy said over comm's. "GPS says he's in the same room you are."

"Well, he ain't." Sonny growled.

"We're not blind Randy." Ray said more calmly than Sonny, yet irritated just the same. "Can't miss him. He's not here."

"Woof!" _over here._

"Then his watch is." Randy insisted. "I'm telling you, it is in that room."

"Find it." Jason ordered.

"And I'm telling you we don't see him." Ray replied.

"WOOF!" _pay me attention._

Every article of clothing was searched, every piece of equipment was searched, every pocket, flap, zipper on any and all packs was searched. No watch. Jason sent Support to search nearby rooms, ordered them, if necessary, to search people.

Randy insisted the watch was in the room where Bravo was.  
Ray insisted the watch wasn't.

 ** _" WOOF!" _**_listen to me._

"It's not here, I'm telling you!" Ray yakked. "We've tossed this room!"

If anyone were to ask how long they'd been searching, every man on Bravo would snap back; 10 to 15 minutes.

It'd been less than two.

Cerberus went up on his hind legs, pawed the air, dropped to all four. Danced. Bounced like a Pogo-stick, all four paws leaving the floor. But he did not move from his spot.

Brock pushed a hand through his hair, his helmet dangled from his fingers. Yeah, yeah, he was momentarily disconnected from comm's, so fucking what?

"Cerb!" He called the dog off the muddy pile of rags he just would not leave alone. "Cease!"

The dog whined, sat. He didn't want to obey, but he did.

"Come." Brock ordered. He didn't need the dog getting sick off slime and muck. "Do not touch those rags."

Cerberus inched his butt towards Brock but didn't really move. He placed a paw on the muddy pile. "WOOF!"

"What's his problem?" Trent asked, standing next to Brock. "He never acts like this."

"Dunno." Brock was tired. Exhausted and drained, for some reason, he just could not pull it together and understand what his dog was trying to make him understand. "Guessing the watch is in that pile. Don't want to touch it."

"Gotta be something we can find to poke through it without touching it."

Brock nodded and they left the room in search of sticks or poles. Cerberus whined, didn't budge.

Jason was already in the hallway and once Brock and Trent left the room, Ray joined Jason.

That left Sonny alone in the room, packing up Clay's clothes and gear.

"WOOF!" Cerberus stood, but his tail didn't wag and his ears went back. "WOOF!"

"Good boy." Sonny said absently. He slipped the beacon into one of his pockets. "You thirsty? Get you some water in a minute."

Facing the corner, his back to the door, he never saw the small, robed girl enter the room. Never saw her approach the 'pile of muddy rags' on the floor. Never knew she saw him and ignored him, intent on completing her job and leaving.

It was Cerberus who first alerted Sonny that something was wrong. His whining and occasional bark became a threatening growl, causing Sonny to look over his shoulder.

"Whoa there boy!" Sonny zipped Clay's backpack closed, set it aside. The dog's hackles were up and though he sat on his haunches, he was tense, muscles poised to attack. "Cerb, cease." Sonny still didn't see the girl. "No." He still didn't turn around. "What's with you?"

How sad was it, that a team of the most highly trained, elite soldiers in the world did not recognize their own teammate when he was a muddy mess in the same room as them, but they all recognized his screams of pain when walls were between them?

Sonny came right out of his skin.  
Ten soldiers all bolted at the exact same time, for the exact same location.  
One interpreter quaked where he stood.  
Cerberus ignored commands to sit and cease, attacked.  
The girl shrieked, clutched a bottle to her chest, tried to flee.

Later, Sonny would drink himself stupid for a week because had he simply paid Cerberus attention, he would have seen the girl and been able to stop her from torturing Clay yet again.

Later, Brock would wrestle with guilt because he'd told Cerberus to find Clay and the dog had and Brock had been too discouraged and frustrated to pay him the attention he deserved.

Later, Jason would kick himself for not searching the entire room because he was mad Clay wasn't where he was supposed to be and he'd wanted the kid in his hands, not a pile of dirty rags.

Later, Trent would join Sonny for a round of drown-my-issues-with booze because had he not left the room over his distaste of pawing through what he thought had been muddy rags, he would have seen the girl enter the room, been able to stop her and known what'd she done to make Clay scream like he was being tortured.

Later, Ray would pray for forgiveness for doubting Randy and losing patience with the tech's insistence that Clay was right there in the room with them even though Bravo could see and Randy couldn't.

Later, Eric would join the team for whatever punishment they chose for themselves because, well, they were his team and this had all happened on his watch.

Later, Cerberus would get a much deserved spa visit, complete with home-made-safe-for-dogs ice cream.

But now? Right now?

Sonny whirled, grabbed for the dog with one hand, the girl's robes with the other. He managed to knock her aside, then felt like shit for knocking her to the floor when he realized she was barely more than a child. He needed both hands to restrain Cerberus by his collar which gave the girl the opportunity to gain her feet and flee with the bottle.

Trent skidded in his haste, muddy feet giving way on a slippery floor when he tried to navigate the corner into the room. His hip caught and he landed on his hands and knees. Yeah, he was gonna have one hell of a bruise. Jason nimbly jumped right over him, bursting into the room, expecting to see Clay...well, somewhere, doing something.

"SONOFABITCH!" Sonny bellowed, barreling out the door everyone else was trying to barrel in through.

The dirty, wet, burlap-looking rag pile of what they'd thought was trash bucked and heaved. Someone, at some point, had decided Clay should not be 'naked' and covered him with what they probably called a sheet but what Bravo called - a pile of dirty rags.

"Fuck me." Jason snatched at the rags, came away with one, then two, then a handful...maybe a sheet, maybe not. No hesitation or curled lip of disgust this time. He grabbed, bunched, tossed and flung until he finally exposed a wet, muddy, dirty, filth covered...body.

"Is…is…that's….is that Clay?" Ray stuttered. "The hell, man?"

"Jesus Jason." Trent was next to him, still on his knees.

They'd wanted to bring Doc but Eric had decided stealing a chopper with an un-cleared, not-officially-there, pilot was pushing their luck enough. Doc was not cleared to be in the field and though they hadn't been able to raise Clay on comm's or via either phone, they'd blamed the weather. No one had thought Clay would be in need of Doc's services, so Jason hadn't pushed.

That was a mistake they would never make again.

Clay wasn't on the floor, wasn't on a table, it was barely a pallet and Jason had to squat down to search for Clay's face. His hair - kinda dry, partially wet, dirty, and matted with mud and no one wanted to know what else, hung in clumps across his forehead, covered his eyes.

"The hell they do? Drag him out of the mud and drop him? Someone muttered.

"What do you need?" Jason asked, his stomach in his throat. "Why's he screaming?"

Well, he wasn't screaming any longer. He was flat on his back, left arm flung wide, his right tight to his side - panting, heaving, choking, gasping...

"So, what do we do?" Ray asked calmly.

"Need to know what the hell she was doing to him." Trent muttered, holding Clay's head still between his palms. "Jesus."

"She had a bottle." Sonny said, but when asked what she'd been doing with it, he couldn't answer.

Jason rubbed his forehead, thumb between his eyebrows, stood up. "Find that girl." He ordered. "Sonny, track her down. Ray, take the interpreter, find whoever is in charge here. Drag his fucking ass back here."

Suddenly, Sonny wasn't feeling so bad about knocking a little girl down anymore.

"Water." Trent replied. "Soap and water." Everyone on Bravo knew soap and water alone, for starters, did wonders against infection, but...here? Now?

"You want to wash him here?" Ray asked. Trent would do what Trent wanted to do, no matter what was reasonable or safe or whether or not it made sense.

And the one person who could stop him, wasn't likely to do so, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"I can't see where he's hurt or how badly with all this...uh, dirt, mud." Trent paused, looked up. "People over here use outhouses, cesspools. Chuck's a good 45 mikes out, right?"

"Brock," Jason began but Brock was nodding, moving to the door.

"Right." Brock shuddered. "Seth!" He stepped out of the room, taking Cerberus with him.

"Jesus." Trent breathed, attention back on Clay. "Shit Clay, what the hell did they do to you?"

Trent pulled rubber gloves from the med kit that Davis had sent on the chopper, handed a pair to Jason. Clay visibly flinched at the sound of the snap. Tensed when Trent ghosted his thumb over the wet, splotchy, wound near his hip. Went rigid when Trent applied slight pressure. Yelped when Trent felt the tell-tale bumps under his skin.

"Shit. Okay, ok." Trent muttered, let the wound go for the moment and pulled out his stethoscope.

"Easy kid." Jason said, put a palm on Clay's shoulder. "What else do you need?" He asked Trent soon as the medic pulled the stethoscope from his ears.

"Pulse rapid, irregular heartbeat, breathing constricted, labored." Trent related. "Oxygen."

It was doubtful any would be found until Chuck returned because while they had taken med kits and supplies from the chopper when they'd landed, they hadn't brought portable O2.

"On it." Karl said before Jason could issue an order. "Chris." Matt had gone with Sonny, Jeff with Ray.

"Tell me he's okay." Jason asked, gently feeling for broken bones in Clay's feet, ankles, shins.

"Too soon to tell." Trent uncapped a bottle of water, upended it over Clay's head, let it run rivulets down his forehead and cheeks. Dabbed his eyes, gently wiped off the loose, dried, caked mud with a clean cloth from his face.

They'd really have to scrub with harsh soap to get off the worst of the grime and mud.

"His eyes..." Jason paused. "His cheeks...look...cleaner."

"Tears." Trent shrugged. "Don't guess he's been screaming dry-eyed."

Jason cursed.

Clay pulled out of his touch, ducked his chin to avoid the cloth. Trent paused, not expecting that reaction at all. Clay never drew away from him.

"Hey." Trent scolded gently. "Just me, you're good."

But Clay wasn't trying to duck the attempt to wash the mud off his face; he was trying to catch the water with his tongue. He didn't care that it was muddy and tasted awful, it was wet, he wanted it and he was going to get it.

His left hand didn't obey and move like he wanted it to until Jason felt him tug and let it go, curious why he didn't move his right hand…..after all, Clay was right-handed.

His hand free, Clay raised his hand to rub his cheek, his nose, licked his fingers.

"Don't do that." Jason scowled, disgusted. He reached to stop Clay, wondered why Trent didn't. "Trent?" He saw his medic's face. His stone-set expression of murder. "What?"

"Fuck this whole god-damn country." Trent huffed. "They never even gave him water Jace."

Jason's expression soon matched Trent's. He reached for his backpack, pulled out a bottle of water, waited while Trent pried Clay's fingers from his mouth, then forced his teeth apart.

"Shine your light." Trent ordered. Jason obeyed. Watched Trent maneuver Clay's tongue with a finger.

"What can you see other than mud?" Jason asked. Damned if he could see anything but mud. Mud-caked teeth. Mud-coated tongue. Mud-smeared lips and gums. "Jesus."

"Throat's red, inflamed."

"Meaning?" It never ceased to amaze Jason what Trent saw or knew or guessed that was oblivious to him and the rest of the team.

"Meaning he's been screaming awhile." Trent wet a rag, let Clay chew on it, wiped as much mud from Clay's mouth as Clay would allow. "I know, you're thirsty….hang on a sec."

Jason took the packets Trent handed him, opened them, removed the swabs.

"Nose first." Trent directed. "Then his ears. Give him small sips." He stayed Jason's hand when his boss picked up the water bottle. "Small sips Jason." He stared his boss down another few seconds, let his hand go. Clay would want to gulp the water and Jason would want to let him, but Trent didn't want him doing that.

Clay, occupied with Jason poking sticks of cotton swabs up his nose and in his ears between allowing him drips of water, didn't react when Trent pressed and prodded and palpated his sides, belly, sternum, chest, avoiding the obvious inflamed, swollen mud-caked injury on his right side.

"He good?" Jason asked. Clay was finally able to breathe through his nose but it didn't ease his struggle to breathe or ease his heavy panting.

"Mmmm. No signs of internal bleeding. Gonna try and sit him up, let him drink. You okay to hold him?"

Jason's look was all 'can't believe you have to ask'.

Trent shrugged. "Take your vest off."

Jason obeyed, contacted HAVOC, asked for status on Chuck's return, was told to stand-by.

Oh, how well they knew how to comfort Clay, keep him calm, make him feel safe, secure.

Seth popped in with several wet towels. "No tub, found a sink with running water though. Has a hose. No hot water, but clean."

"Gimme your water."

Seth nodded, handed Trent his two unopened bottles as well as a bottle of purple Gatorade and resumed the search for any of the four things they were searching for: girl, man in charge, tub, oxygen.

Trent took a towel, draped it over Clay's head, patted his hair, rubbed his forehead and temples with a corner; used the opposite corner to soak his crusty eyes until the caked, hardened mud and muck softened and Jason could wipe it away with another wet towel.

"There you go, better?" Trent could finally see Clay's eyes. The whites were bloodshot, the pupils uneven and roaming. "Wanna sit up? Easy…..rest against Jason, okay?"

Clay groaned, reluctant to move his head. Trent had to support it with a firm hand, guide his ascent but even with both Jason and Trent supporting him, he couldn't sit up on his own.

"Your head hurts, I know. Sorry." There wasn't much he could do about that right now, but he could flush Clay's eyes with a soothing saline and add drops for moisture. "He's got a concussion. Try not to let him roll his head too much. No broken bones, nothing dislocated."

Jason carefully juggled Clay into his arms, bit his lip against his whine and whimper, winced when he cried out.

"Shit. The reason he's out of it, you think?" He settled the kid's weight against his chest, let Trent lay his head against his shoulder. "His side?" He let Clay sip the Gatorade. "Trent? Is it serious?"

"Dunno yet." He was scared to look at it. Clay didn't like moving and wasn't moving his right arm at all. Couldn't be good. "Hold his head."

Clay blinked, shrank back against Jason, expected searing flame to light up his side, but instead, more water washed his face and his eyes were held open and repeatedly squirted with a liquid that eased the burning and reduced the reddish-brown haze he'd been seeing through.

He didn't feel panic, not like before. This was different. His hearing was clearing, he could breathe through his nose, even his eyesight was improving. But his head still hurt and he was still being toasted and he really didn't feel very good at all.

"Taste good? No, don't lick it." Jason wiped Clay's face, this time, offered him water. "Okay, yeah, I know…..still doesn't taste all that good, huh?"

"We get him cleaned up a bit, I have oral swabs." Trent said. "Stay still. Few more drops."

Clay wasn't following his words and Trent knew it, but he hoped the sound of his voice would be enough to keep Clay calm.

"Trent," Brock came in. "No tub, just the sink with running water. The floor has a drain. You ready? Seth is keeping everyone out."

"Good enough." Trent said. "Kenny around?"

"I'm right here." The only team member not off in search of someone or something, he'd been guarding the door.

Matt and Jeff were back, collected Jason's vest and gear, Trent's med kits and backpack. Clay's clothes and gear had already been collected, would eventually be returned to Davis.

"Watch his head, his right side. He's touchy." Trent instructed. "Is it far?"

"Couple halls over."

Kenny and Brock each took a foot. Jason got to his feet, lifted Clay's weight with him, let Trent take his left arm, carefully bore the kid's weight on his right side. As gentle and careful as they were, Clay still balked. Groaned with a cry or whimper, but at least, he wasn't screaming in pain.

It took the four of them to take hold, lift, and awkwardly carry him without causing him too much pain. He wouldn't move his right arm from his side, so Jason didn't have a firm or comfortable hold.

Matt, Jeff and Cerberus cleared a path in the hallways so the men carrying Clay didn't have to worry about their burden being jostled.

Jason, Brock, Kenny and Matt held Clay off the floor.  
Seth manned the hose with the nozzle removed.  
Trent rubbed and scrubbed with Lava soap.  
Chris patted and wiped and rinsed.  
Until finally, mud didn't run from his hair and skin emerged.

Karl returned, no oxygen. Led them to a nearby room with a pallet and clean mat. Jason then ordered everyone out. He held Clay down while Trent swabbed his mouth with the oral swabs coated with mouthwash, but he didn't resist, so really, other than Jason just wanting contact, there was no need to hold him.

Finally, Trent put balm on his lips to sooth the sting and pulled on new gloves. He took a breath, ready to tackle the wound on Clay's side.

"Good enough." Trent decided. Clay was nowhere as clean as Trent wanted him but the majority of the muck and slime and mud had been removed. Behind his ears and between his toes and under his nails could wait until they were back on Base with a proper tub, where if possible with his side, they could submerge him.

The numerous bruises and scrapes and cuts and abrasions while irritating, were superficial.

"Trent?" Jason looked at his watch. Fuck. It felt like hours had passed but it had been just over thirty minutes since they'd found Clay. Trent was used to working frantically in tense conditions where every second mattered. What made him so good at it, was he rarely missed anything. But now, now he was hesitant, unsure and Jason didn't like that. "Talk to me."

"I don't like he's having a hard time breathing. I don't know what's causing it. I don't hear congestion, he isn't puking, yet it's like...his lungs are irritated. I don't dare give him anything until I know what, if anything, they gave him." He'd let his boss see his doubt, know his uncertainty, but only his boss. Knew it would never go any further than the two of them.

"He does okay with morphine."

"Yeah, long as we know he hasn't taken anything else."

Jason nodded. He would never second guess or override Trent when it came to the care of anyone on the team.

"Chuck should be airborne any minute." Jason said. "Want to wait?"

"I want the asshole that did this to him." Trent said. "I need to talk to him before I kill him."

"Working on it." Jason promised. "Ray will find him."

He nodded. Just that bit of conversation reaffirming his boss's complete and utter trust in him, grounded him once more. "Might want to hold him down." He set aside a metal pick and a pair of straight hemostats. "He's not going to like this."

Jason looked away, paled, but held steady.

Trent used his teeth to open a packet of Chlorhexidine swab sticks. His touch light, he generously swabbed the skin all around the wound in Clay's side; up, down, around, on, over. Clay tensed, his stomach rippled, goose bumps popped on his skin, but he held still.

Trent tossed the third and final swab, picked up the pick. "Got him?" He waited for his boss to nod. "Don't worry about his right arm," Trent waved with the pick. "His whole side is swollen up to his armpit, down to his knee. He ain't gonna be swinging at you."

Jason whistled. "The fuck?" He didn't expect an answer, didn't get one. "The hell would do that?"

Trent used his thumb and forefinger to push apart the skin that had crusted together into a lumpy scab. Clay stirred, head rolling when Trent applied slight pressure and broke the wound open.

"Hey, I'm right here." Jason put a hand on Clay's left shoulder to hold him still when his back arched from the mat. "Sssh...hey, listen to me." He held Clay's head still by holding his chin, but no amount of talking or gentle shaking or hand squeezing or chin cuddling called Clay's attention to him.

Trent saw the gauze packing he was looking for, picked it loose, began to tug the first wad from the wound with the hemostats. Clay went from tense to rigid to completely stiff...the whimper became a whine, the whine a guttural cry, the cry a scream when Trent pulled the wad out.

Jason wondered how Trent knew what to pick loose and pull out. How he even knew it was there. To him, it all looked the same. Huh, he made a mental note to have Trent and Doc show him and the rest of the team, Clay included, how to tell muscle and tissue and layers of skin from, you know, what shouldn't be there.

"BROCK!" Jason shouted over Clay. "Keep everyone out." He knew how they would react hearing their teammate cry out - make that, scream.

The wound began to ooze blood, puss and mud and mucus. The more wads of gauze Trent pulled out, the heavier the bleeding got.

Jason wanted to tell Trent to stop. To wait and do what he was doing when they were back at the infirmary on the Air Base where Doc could give Clay something for the pain. But yeah, that wouldn't do any good. Doc wouldn't be able to give Clay anything that Trent couldn't.

"BROCK!" Trent called. Clay was beginning to move too much, the plastic mat now wet and slippery. Clay would soon be thrashing and Trent needed him still and he needed someone to flush the wound with a cleansing solution and staunch the bleeding.

"Hey kid." Brock greeted. "What'd you go and do this time? Huh?"

"Almost done." Trent was saying as Brock reached to pick up a white cloth. "Can you..."

But Clay took hold of Brock's wrist with his left hand, held tight with a surprisingly strong grip so Jason took the cloth, switched places with Brock.

He understood why Trent had insisted on washing Clay as best as they could here. Even understood why Trent was removing the gauze from the wound...germs, bacteria, infection...the dirt and grime and mud packed in that wound could easily kill the kid. Still might. But no. Clay was healthy and strong, would fight off the infection and be fine.

Eventually.

Fuck. Why did the kid always have to be the one to go through something like this? Dammit, he spoke the fucking language. If he hadn't hit his head; if he'd been awake when he'd been brought into the clinic; if the 'doctor' hadn't treated him; if, if, if.

At most, the kid should be going home with a concussion. Not any of this. Clay wouldn't have to decide whether or not to take med leave, Jason was going to _make_ him take it.

"How bad is it?" Brock was asking Trent.

Jason glanced over. He'd missed it, but Clay was on his left hip, right arm still against his side, mostly in the comfort and security of Brock's arms. His eyes narrowed, Clay hadn't responded to him like that.

Shrugging it off, he helped Trent control the bleeding, flush the wound by squirting saline from a bottle while Trent poked and prodded through muscle and tissue in Clay's exposed side until he was satisfied no more gauze or foreign debris remained.

"Stitching him up?" Jason asked, ignored Clay's shaking, his groans, his cries, pulled his skin as close together as he could, applied firm pressure with the cloth and held tight.

"Not here." Trent said. "Gonna need internal stitches, let Doc get a good look first. Will go with liquid adhesive and tape. Trust me, he's not gonna feel it itch."

Jason nodded, removed what was needed from the med kit, handed it to Trent. By the time he was done, Sonny returned empty handed.

"Trent, dammit man, why didn't you give him something?!" Sonny paced the small room. "The hell's with you? Where's the damn doctor?"

"You don't want that man anywhere near him." Trent ran a hand through his hair "Quack doesn't hold a medical license."

Clay was a wet, shivering, panting, struggling-to-breathe mess in Brock's lap who flinched and tensed and hiccupped at every movement.

"You have your med pack. Davis sent it. I know there's something in there you can give him." Sonny stared him down. "Help him."

"I can't!"

Sonny stepped towards him, Trent held his ground.

"You don't see that? See him? How can you stand there and watch him? Let him go through that?"

"I see him! Do you?" Trent didn't back down. "Do you, Sonny? LOOK AT HIM! His breathing is compromised. I don't know what, if anything, they've given him. I don't know why his breathing is labored! Maybe it's pain. Maybe it's panic. Maybe it's head trauma, brain injury. Maybe it's _just_ a concussion. Maybe it's a reaction to something they gave him. I DON'T KNOW SONNY!"

Sonny stared at Trent another few seconds, turned to look at Clay. Okay, yeah, maybe Trent had a point.

"YOU WANT ME TO DO SOMETHING? WHY DON'T YOU? How about you do that Sonny?" He looked at his hands, the latex gloves covered in dried blood, wet blood, mud, dirt. "I don't dare give him anything until I know what they did to him."

A commotion in the hallway erupted and Ray barged in, dragging Dr. Omar by his ear, the interpreter on their heels, babbling for Ray to let the good doctor go, he had many patients to see. Support blocked the doorway.

"ENOUGH!" Jason roared.

The room fell silent.

Dr. Omar ceased his struggles, was held still by Ray who was not going to let go until Trent had the answers he was looking for.

"You!" Jason grabbed the interpreter by his collar, dragged him over and around until he stood in front of Ray. "Ask the good Doc what he used to treat Clay." He held the interpreter still when he tried to tug free. "Nuh-ah. No one is going anywhere until he gives me an answer."

Finally Dr. Omar scowled, waved his hands and erupted into a dialog no one understood.

"Pinus solvent." The interpreter said helplessly. "Does that mean...?"

Trent threw one punch and Dr. Omar sagged to the floor. Caught by surprise, Ray let him go. Trent wrapped his hands around Dr. Omar's throat, dragged him to his feet, threw him against the wall, pressed with this thumbs until Sonny helped Jason pull him off.

"Trent! Hey man, come on! Murder is frowned upon even over here!" Ray yelled.

"You know what that is?" Brock asked.

"Turpentine."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey all!

Spring is on the way! Snow storm coming first though...you know us Marylander's - a possible 5 inches will grind this state to a complete and utter halt!

My usual disclaimer - medical inconsistencies...but you all know that by now. I Google, truly I do, but I get bored.

* * *

"TRENT! Hey, hey, hey!" Jason bear-hugged him from behind. "Back off." He pulled Trent off Dr. Omar who slithered down the wall into a heap on the floor.

Seething, Sonny searched for an acceptable way to vent. Yelling at Trent made him feel better, but didn't help the situation. Pummeling Dr. Omar sounded like a mighty fine idea…..

"What's the matter with you?" Ray added. He didn't lend a hand to Dr. Omar or help him gain his feet, but stood between him and Trent to prevent another attack. "We don't attack people..." He went silent at the twin looks from Trent and Jason. "What?"

Trent, still held by his boss, pointed at Clay, who hadn't moved from Brock's lap.

"Oh." Ray turned away. Right, the uh, doctor...damn, was he responsible for Clay's condition? He'd had a devil of a time finding the man and then, it had taken both him and Jeff to force the man to come with them. "How bad is he?"

Trent shrugged. "I don't like it."

That wasn't an answer but when Ray tried to push, Jason waved him off.

Trent in the capable control of Jason, Sonny moved off, opened a bottle of water. He was pissed off he hadn't been able to find the girl, pissed he hadn't known she'd entered the room and annoyed with Trent for the kid being the mess he was.

"Turpentine's bad, why?" Seth asked.

"It's a paint thinner, isn't it? Matt questioned. "What's it supposed to do?"

"A hundred years or so ago, it was used for medicinal purposes. Dunno why." Jeff supplied, he'd followed the interpreter into the room. "Burns like a bitch, you get it in an open cut."

Jason winced. He'd helped Trent treat the kid. The others had no idea how badly the kid might be hurt.

"Wait...what?" Ray looked around, looked at Clay, turned to Jason. "What did I miss?" He raised an eyebrow when he realized Jason wasn't restraining Trent, just holding him. Trent, feeling Ray's eyes on him, moved away from his boss.

Jason let him go with a reassuring pat on the back.

Huh.

"It's an irritant Ray. He's Clay. Do the math." Trent snapped, ignored the look of reprimand from Ray.

Clay stirred, head rolling along Brock's arm. He didn't care about Trent or Dr. Omar or the ruckus around him. He wanted Sonny's water. He tried to sit up, didn't make it. Tried to pull away, came up short. His left hand was trapped beneath him against Brock, and he went limp after a failed attempt to free it.

Moving hurt.

He groaned, choking, his throat dry so he ended up coughing, leaving him panting, gasping for air. If he laid still, breathing was easier, so why didn't he? He shifted with a whimper, his head was held, soft ssshs were in his ear. Brock massaged his neck. Right, stay still.

"Can you give him something now?" Sonny asked. "Trent, man, come on, don't be a dick. You can be a bastard sometimes, but come on here. Help him." He raised the bottle to take a drink but it was swiped right out of his hand before it even touched his lips. "HEY!"

Oh now, that's just taking things too far, Trent ole buddy, ole pal.

Sonny had patience, he really did. And these men standing with him were the only people in the world he wouldn't go after for fucking with him, but not now. Now, the mood was too tense, emotions too heightened and if Trent wanted a drink, he could damn well drink his own fucking bottle of water.

"Now see here Trent, I'm been wandering around this place, pushing my way through hordes of people covered in mud and shit, looking for a girl dressed like every other damn female over here. You want a drink, get you own damn..."

"Used it all." Trent snapped tersely. "So'd Jason. So'd Brock. We took what Seth had." He squatted down next to Brock, who held Clay's head still. "Hey, here...easy." He tipped the bottle against Clay's lips, let him swallow some, took the bottle away, waited a bit, then offered him some more. "Sonny's an ass, you can have his water."

And Sonny felt like shit.

Clay wanted the water but when he swallowed, he spit most of it up. Trent and Brock were patient.

Sonny wanted to hit something - someone.

Clay reached timidly – _and didn't that just piss off everyone!_ – with his right hand to hold the bottle, felt Trent's wrist, paused. Trent waited. Clay's aim was off, Trent knew he was after the bottle but the kid didn't remove his hand.

Trent was just relieved Clay was moving his right hand….he'd yet to do so and that worried Trent.

Clay hesitated, something was different. There was a lot of activity around him. Voices that while yelling, were familiar and comforting…..the blurry, floating, faces would briefly merge into focus...he saw dirt, mud, grime and beards...Trent. Brock.

 _...there is no order we won't disobey, no authority we won't buck, to come get you._

The hands that cupped his chin, held his head still were rough, hard, callused but the touch was gentle...

 _….trust that knife wound in your side...take it as the proof it is, that there is no reason we would ever leave you on your own._

Shivering, he pressed his right elbow closer to his side, immediately felt the twinge. As long as he felt that pain…..he had something to hold on to….a reason to believe…in ' _we_ '.

 _...we'll_ _never not come get you._

"Spenser? Hey?"

Spenser? Clay frowned, blinking. His head hurt and trying to bring his vision into focus left him disoriented but he was only ever called by his last name when he was in trouble or when everyone was mad at him.

"Clay." Brock gave him a slight jounce. "Hey there, you're okay."

Clay blinked, let his eyes remained closed, tilted his head towards _that_ voice. Clay. That was better.

"You're not feeling so good, I know." Brock continued. "Your head hurts, everything's fuzzy, but we're here, we got you."

 _We._

A wet, cold cloth was held against the thumping, thudding bump on his head, quelling its frequent attempts to kill him. It felt so good, he pressed against it – willing to accept anything that eased the pain in his head, even if it made him cold.

"Concussion anything to worry about?" Someone asked. Clay knew that voice. When it spoke, people listened. The presence of that voice meant no one would be lighting him on fire anymore. He didn't hear the answer.

His side still hurt, was painful, but no longer-scream-is-the-only-relief-I-can-get agony. He could hear normally and his vision, though blurry and all over the place, was no longer seeing everything through a red-colored haze.

He licked his lips, wanted more water. Brock obliged.

Sonny wanted to kick something. He eyed Dr. Omar, who sat rubbing his throat, staring at the door that was blocked by several large, armed men. Oh no, the good doc would not be leaving this room until they were done with him. Sonny cast a glance at Trent. Or ever, their medic had a say.

The room was too small to pace and with everyone crowded in, all Sonny could do was turn and face a wall. Trent always put the needs and comfort of his teammates before his own. Even if Trent had taken the water for himself, Sonny couldn't get mad over it. But Trent wouldn't have, not like that, he would have asked.

FUCK!

Feet shuffled and bottles of water appeared for Jason and Trent. Jason muttered his thanks. The one or two bottles of Gatorade that someone or another produced were set aside for Clay.

"You." Jason snapped his fingers at the interpreter who cringed. "Over here."

Soon as Tabibi saw Amanda Ellis, he was quitting. He was not cut out for field work or working anywhere with these men. They were violent, brutal, loud and rude and crude and he did not like them.

"Tabibi." He stuttered. "My name is..."

"Whatever." Jason blew him off. "Sonny, find out Chuck's status. Guys, clear out." He grabbed Dr. Omar by the collar, hauled him off the floor, dragged him close. "Ask him what they gave Clay. Words I understand. I'm done fucking around. I want answers."

Tabibi translated to Dr. Omar, who again ranted in his native language, hands flapping, fingers pointing. Oh yeah, he was not happy.

"ENOUGH!" Jason yelled. " _What_ did he give him? Or so help me, I'm breaking bones." He would too, he knew how to do it quickly and efficiently and painfully.

"Orally." Trent added. He gave Brock a bottle of Gatorade, stood up. "He's too out of it Boss. Yeah, he has a concussion, and his side is bad but he should have been able to fight through it. They gave him something."

"What's wrong with his side?" Ray asked. "Just how hurt is he?" He was getting mighty sick of being ignored.

Tabibi again translated. Dr. Omar glowered, then cowered when Jason gave him a good shaking, finally answered.

"He resisted their attempts to aid him." Tabibi said. "They used a liquid sedative to keep him calm."

"Liquid sedative?" Ray repeated. "What does...?"

"Ether." Trent dug deep for patience, watched Brock handle Clay. "Over here, it's still used as an anesthetic." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ. We know he can fight through its effects, he wants to. He did before. I dunno Jace. They..."

"They what?" Ray pushed. "Tell me he's okay Trent."

"Does he look okay Ray?" Trent blew up. "LOOK at HIM! Tell me he looks okay!?"

"Don't yell at me." Ray warned. "Calm down." He wondered why Jason didn't have anything to say. "I understand things are tense, we're not in a good place, but we aren't the only people affected."

Yeah, Trent didn't care. "He would have been better off if they'd left him in the damn mud." He ignored the startled gasps around the room. "These people don't listen Ray. Turpentine doesn't make anything better. They've been told time and again not to use it. See what happens when they do?"

Ray was slow to anger, but Trent's attitude was pissing him off. He looked at Clay who squirmed uneasily in Brock's lap. Kid didn't look good at all - pale, panting, sweating, flushed, shaking - and Brock was having a hard time holding him still, keeping the cloth on his head and holding a bottle of Gatorade steady so he could drink.

"They do what they can," Ray began. "Use what is available..."

"Bullshit." Trent cut in. "Calling bullshit Ray. Doctors without Borders, humanitarian aid workers, The Red Cross, the Peace Corps...any of those ringing bells? You listening? These _people_ are taught better, help is available and they go and do **_THAT_**!" He stabbed a finger in the air in Clay's direction for emphasis. "They don't listen!"

That would be Clay who either unwilling or unable to lie still, bit his lip, panted to breathe, held onto Brock, shook and shivered, licked his lips because he wanted more to drink.

"Trent, we're in an unfortunate situation. I get that." Ray began but Trent wasn't having it.

Jason finally let go of Dr. Omar to kneel next to Brock to give him a hand juggling an uneasy Clay who wanted to sit up until he did, then wanted to lay against Brock. He wasn't content, wouldn't stop moving. He took the bottle of Gatorade, held it so Clay could drink, caught Brock's eye who shrugged one shoulder with a sad smile.

"You remember, don't you? The infected knife wound that wouldn't stop bleeding? Yeah, that one. Torn open again and the asshat packed it with rolls of gauze. Never cleaned it. Just shoved cotton in deep, taking whatever in with it. Let it bleed and crust over. You shudda seen what I picked out of him...you wudda puked. No soap, no water, just turpentine. God knows how often or for how long. To keep him quiet, they smothered him with ether. Yeah, Ray, I'm pissed. The kid is hurt, he's in pain, he can't breathe, he's filthy, there's no oxygen and Sonny's all up in my face because I _can't_ give him anything for the pain!"

Trent bit his tongue before he said anything more. Like: the kid pulls away from me and I don't know why and he's never done that before and I don't like it!

And Clay was in pain. Trent knew it. They all knew the signs. The way the kid bit his lip, the furrowed brow, the tight skin around his eyes, the white lips, his inability to lie still, his clutching hold on Brock.

Ray was quiet, warred over whether or not to dress Trent down. Thought maybe Jason would rein in the fired-up medic but no, that wasn't going to happen.

"Don't you dare stand there and defend what they did to him." Trent finished. "I don't what condition he was in when he was brought here. I don't know why he let them treat him. They left him alone, didn't even give him water. He speaks their language Ray. Yeah, he has a concussion, maybe it made him weak and woozy. Maybe the ether rendered him compliant. Whatever, it's obvious he couldn't get up and walk away but I'm pretty damn sure he was, at some point, able to tell them no."

"If the..." Brock paused, "...uh doctor here says he didn't give Clay any medication, isn't it safe to at least give him some morphine?"

"Do you trust him?" Trent asked, opening a bottle of water.

"I want to." Brock admitted. "I swear I can feel his heart racing Trent."

"Probably can."

Sonny popped his head in. "Chuck's mobile. Minutes out. How close do you want him to come? He said he doesn't need to land, just have space to hover. Do you want him to find somewhere to land, have Dutch come with a basket?"

"Have him pick us up where he dropped us off." Jason replied. "Bird that big this close will cause chaos."

"He's not walking." Brock said. "Go find a blanket."

"What, steal it off a kid? A woman?" Karl teased, but everyone knew he would if he couldn't find any anywhere else. He sobered. "Right, will do."

"Stretcher?" Jason questioned. "Or make one. Bring back something."

Within seconds, Support had moved off, Sonny and Ray guarded the door but their attention was in the room, not out in the hallway, so yeah, they weren't doing too much 'guarding'.

Dr. Omar made to leave.

"Nope." Jason, on his knees, reached with one hand, pulled him back. "Not yet. Tell him Tabby, he's not going anywhere until we're outta here."

"Tabibi." The interpreter corrected with a sigh. It was useless, correcting these men, they would just do what they wanted to anyway.

Trent finished the water, looked down at Clay whose chattering teeth and goose-bumped flesh told him the kid was cold. Clay caught Trent's gaze, blue eyes wide and hazed, pupils still unequal and Trent didn't know whether or not Clay even knew who he was, but that bleary gaze combined with the way he bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stop his teeth from clacking but only made his jaw quiver harder, kicked Trent in the belly.

"Grey backpack." Trent told Tabibi. "Bottles with blue lids." He went down on his knees next to Brock. "Spenser? Hey, you with me?" He took hold of Clay's jaw, thumb under his chin to hold his head still.

Jason took the bottle of Gatorade away, Clay protested with a muffled whine.

"Look at me." Trent ordered. Clay could, when he wanted to, hold his eyes still. Trent knew they were dry and sore and irritated and the kid was affected by a concussion but he wanted to know whether or not Clay could hear him. "You with me? Clay? Hey, I'll give you something to ease the pain, but I need you to look at me? Okay?"

Clay blinked, looked for the bottle of Gatorade. Brock took it from Jason, gave it to him to hold, but kept hold of his wrist, didn't let him drink.

"Spenser?" Trent snapped his fingers in Clay's face, he winced, tried to duck away. "Yeah, sounds really loud to you and you don't like it, I know." But the snap proved effective, he was able to pull Clay's attention from the Gatorade Brock wouldn't let him drink. "Can you hold your breath? Breathe with me. Do you feel sick? Like you want to puke?"

Clay shook his head, the first indication he might understand what Trent was saying.

"Who am I?" Trent waited.

Clay licked his lips, closed his eyes, scrunched his nose. His forehead furrowed but he couldn't come up with Trent's name. His wrist twisted but he didn't break Brock's gentle hold.

"Do you know where you are?" Trent asked. "Who's holding you?"

Clay looked stricken, close to panic.

"You're okay, breathe." Trent patted his knee, softened his hold on Clay's jaw, rubbed soothing circles with the pad of his thumb under his chin. "Okay? Calm down."

"No one's holding you hostage Clay. It's just me." Brock assured him. "See, you're free. You can get up, you want to."

He didn't want to.

Jason hovered over Trent's shoulder. "Not with it, huh?"

Trent shook his head.

Tabibi looked for the backpack, saw several that were obviously med kits, selected the grey one Trent wanted. It contained nothing but bottles of pills. How the hell did Trent keep track of shit? He had medications and supplies that other medics didn't even have access to.

No, Tabibi was not any kind of expert on what medic's carried or had access to. Still, he had some idea and wow.

"Blue lids special or something?" He asked, passing Trent the bag. Matt was back with a dry, somewhat clean, coarse blanket.

"Safe for Spenser." Trent replied. He held the bag on his knees, dug through it, impatiently searched for the bottle he wanted that continued to elude him. And just wasn't that just always the case.

"So, the red? Not safe for Spenser?" Tabibi teased, Trent nodded. "The green?"

"Green, he hasn't had it before. Yellow, proceed with caution, monitor closely. White, safe for everyone."

Wow, Tabibi thought. Had to take some time to color-coordinate medication bottles. And where did you even get colored lids? The stuff you found out when you were out in the field.

"No one has to think." Trent continued. "If they see a blue lid, they know it's meant for Clay. If it's white, he can have it."

"Is it worth it?" Tabibi asked. So, everyone knew the color system. "Begging for the funds for the tracking systems, the medication, having to know what he can take, what to do if he takes something he can't."

"We didn't beg for anything." Jason smacked him upside the back of the head. "Quit spreading rumors."

Everyone knew about the funding Bravo had been granted for the tracking system. Tabibi wasn't spreading anything, just merely repeating what'd he heard!

*snort*

He didn't know the Bravo team all that well. He spent most, if not all, of his time with Mandy, but he had ears, heard talk and rumors. He'd met Clay a time or two, was impressed with how well the young Seal spoke and understood his language. But the rest of Bravo? Oh, he kept a safe distance from them.

And this right here, was why.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Trent demanded. "Why would you even ask something like that?"

"Just seems like a lot of work."

"Yeah, well, ain't work you gotta worry about."

"No." Tabibi agreed. "Just, there's a lot. A lot to know, to understand, to keep track of. Just, kinda surprised they - your government lets him operate."

"He gets killed, ain't gonna feel relief he ain't my problem no more."

"What if they transfer him out of Bravo?"

"Jason would never let that happen." Trent stated firmly, shut the conversation down. "Go away."

In other words: Get the fuck out of my face.

"Hey, open, take this..." Brock instructed. "Can't swallow to good, it's not liquid..."

"Yeah, his throat's sore." Trent said, when Clay coughed, spit the pill into Brock's palm. "Okay, come here." He motioned for Jason to take Clay away from Brock. "Keep him up, more water. It'll be easier for him to swallow."

Clay went from stricken to confused to bewildered. He didn't want to move. He liked the warmth against his back and though he wasn't comfortable, he wasn't uncomfortable either, his pain manageable and moving would likely not allow him to continue to ignore it.

He went to Jason willingly enough, but reluctantly. Brock supported his weight with a hand on his back. Trent and Jason wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

"Oral meds?" Jason questioned quietly. Knew damn well Trent had every kind of pain med possible and knew every way to administer it.

"Would rather he puke it up." Trent held Clay by the jaw, popped the pill in his mouth then flooded it with water. "You good?" But his look was grim. Clay had a hard time swallowing, choked on the water, shuddered when his throat protested. "It go down? Open up, lemme see."

"Puke with that throat?" Brock asked, he didn't usually question any decision Trent made. "He can barely swallow."

"He'll just throw up the water and pill." Trent explained. "Give him a shot, he throws a reaction, he'll puke and heave for a while."

"No, he ain't good." Sonny was back. "What's wrong with his throat? And what the hell is that?"

Clay was sitting up, but listing left, his weight supported by Brock, his head by Jason.

"His throat is swollen, inflamed." Trent answered absently, attention focused on the fact Clay was bleeding. He looked up, thought Sonny meant the blood-soaked bandage – damn glue and tape weren't holding – but no, Sonny looked horrified.

Oh, the red skin and extensive swelling along Clay's side. Right. Yeah, that.

"From what?" Ray asked.

"Screaming." Trent shrugged. "Bumps, lumps, scrapes, bruises, road rash, cuts. What did you expect?"

"Trent?" Ray said testily. "That." He pointed at Clay.

The faint whumpwhumpwhump of the chopper could be heard.

"Oh, the swelling? Turpentine." Trent sniped. "They do their best, right Ray?"

Ray glared. Now was not the time.

"You done with him?" Chris pointed to Dr. Omar, stepped aside to allow Kenny and Karl entrance, armed with a makeshift stretcher and more blankets.

Trent looked at Jason. "Can I kill him?"

"No."

"I'm done with him." Trent told Chris.

Jason whistled; the signal for everyone to collect their shit, group together and prepare to leave.

Pulled away from Brock, lifted and gently laid on the stretcher, everyone could see the extensive red, swollen skin on Clay's right side. Though he kept his arm close to his side, the swelling was up to his shoulder, spread out from his arm pit and down to his knee.

The bandage, though blood soaked, held firm and Trent simply taped another over top before covering Clay with the blanket.

"Clay? I need you to stay still." Trent told him. There was no way to secure Clay to the blanket covered mat. "You with me?"

Clay nodded but Trent didn't believe the kid had a clue. He was frowning, petting the blanket. Did he think it was Cerberus? Or maybe he didn't like the blanket because it wasn't soft. No way of knowing.

He'd feel a hell of a whole lot better after they were on the chopper and were able to get Clay on oxygen. If his breathing eased, so would Trent's concern. If it didn't…..

Cerberus, tired and weary, jumped onto the stretcher and settled between Clay's feet. Brock patted his head, no one had the heart to make him move. His added weight wouldn't be an issue.

Sonny, Ray, Brock and Jason carried Clay. Trent followed with his backpacks and bags, trudging wearily out of the clinic and towards the chopper.

The motion and height accompanied by jostling and jarring jerks, brought Clay around. He blinked until his vision narrowed into focus and he stared up at the two upside-down faces above him.

There were two Jason's and a blurry Sonny. Both - or all three - heads bobbed and weaved, floated and swayed, never stayed still or ceased moving. It made him nauseous.

H couldn't move his feet, a heavy weight kept them pinned. He raised his head to look down, saw four furry ears, three long noses and four brown faces...oh God.

"Hey, you're good. Just the dog. You have a concussion. Keep your eyes closed." Trent handed a bag off to someone, reached to lay a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Need you to stay still."

Clay stilled, then slowly reached with his right hand. Trent happy to see him moving his right hand more, let him take hold of his hand, gave the kid a reassuring squeeze.

"We've got you."

Clay let his eyes close, but kept hold of Trent's hand. Whether it was they were finally heading to the chopper, Clay was moving his right hand or he had acknowledged and accepted him, Trent neither knew nor cared. He just suddenly felt a hell of a whole lot better about the situation.

 _We._

Chuck hadn't landed, hovered, kept the chopper steady until everyone was on board then lifted off. Trent gave Doc a hug and Clay was transferred into a basket secured safely to the floor but not strapped into it.

An IV was started, oxygen went over his mouth. Doc and Trent communicated with one another in a way only they understood but everyone on Bravo and Support knew Doc wasn't happy by his frowns and scowls and thinned lips and head shakes as he quickly and efficiently, examined Clay.

Clay under the care of Doc's capable hands, everyone started to shed wet cloths, heavy backpacks, weapons. Accepted the offers of hot coffee, dry towels and warm blankets from Dutch and his team.

Brock started to dry Cerberus off but Dutch waved him off, did it for him. The dog would need a proper bath, a good shampooing and several brushings to rid his fur of all the muck and mire, but for now, he was happy to be rubbed with a blanket and given warm broth to drink.

Doc handed Trent a syringe who motioned for someone to roll Clay onto his left hip, gave him a shot. Doc injected something into the port feeding the IV. Later Trent would tell his teammates the shot had been pain relief and an antiemetic had been administered through the IV to help with nausea.

Clay wanted to stay on his side, fussed with the oxygen mask, slapped back at the hands that knocked his away. He was too tired and too disoriented to put up much resistance, finally went limp and accepted the warm touches, back pats, hand squeezes and found it much easier to breathe.

The sounds around him were no longer alien and scary. The motion and whumpwhumpwhump of the chopper were a lullaby that finally made him feel safe. The medication and oxygen rendered him quiet and still and finally, he went limp, the pain and discomfort somewhat controlled.

Chuck landed, would shut the chopper down. He and the rest of Support were due showers, dinner, change of clothes, a two hour nap then they would return, minus Bravo, to the relief efforts.

Eric met them, watched Clay be strapped into the basket and carried from the chopper to the infirmary. He followed and once Clay was taken from Bravo, ordered everyone to the showers, then dinner. Even Trent.

He assured Jason he didn't have to worry about Sonny encountering Mandy, she'd left Jordan.

Doc promised to remain with Clay, so Bravo obeyed their Commander and headed for the showers, clean clothes and a hot meal. Brock allowed Davis to take Cerberus to the kennels and leave him under the care of another handler who promised to see the dog, washed, cleaned, tended and returned to Bravo's quarters.

They were exhausted. It had been a long day that had started in the middle of the night and gone to shit before dawn. Tracking Clay, finding Clay, discovering he was hurt, not knowing how or why, finding out what had been done to him, had wiped them out; mentally, emotionally, physically.

() () ()

Clay instantly noticed he was alone with people he didn't know. Not a face was familiar. The bright lights of the infirmary made his head roar, slammed him with anxiety, left him disoriented and unable to connect to reality once again. Pain soon over-rode medication. The activity and motion and comings and goings of multiple people built panic. Hands came at him. He was pushed and pulled. Pinched and plucked. Rolled and picked up and put down - held down.

His initial examine completed, Doc decided to have Clay thoroughly cleaned before setting any stitches - internal or external. Yes, the wound was deep, but surgical repair wasn't required and a good washing with warm water and antibacterial soap wouldn't hurt. Well, it would, but ultimately, it would help more than it would hurt. Maybe not physically and Clay might think differently...eh. Whatever.

Doc was tired, it had been a stressful day, doing nothing but waiting.

Clay wasn't happy. His vision remained blurred, his hearing fuzzed out. The voices were no longer familiar. And he didn't take kindly to the removal of his last article of clothing and attempts to put him in a tub of water. Oh no, no one was going to put him in water while he still breathed.

Doc was fetched.

His familiar face, soothing voice and gentle touch was enough Clay stopped fighting and let himself be submerged in the hot water. But attempts to scrub him from head to toe by people he didn't recognize made him lash out. Dunking him beneath the water didn't happen, required the retrieval of Trent.

"The last time he was scrubbed this clean..." Trent took a bite of his cheeseburger, set it aside, dunked Clay's head under the running spigot. "...we had to find two kittens. Still don't know how she managed to get him so clean with just a sponge bath." He grinned when Clay grunted, possibly at the memory. "What do you think Doc? He okay?"

"You tell me." Doc countered, wielded a small scrub brush and a coarse washcloth. "He had on boots, did he not? How'd he get mud under his toenails?"

"You've no idea how much mud and muck there was." Trent rolled his head until his neck cracked. Bending over a tin tub on his knees made his back and shoulders ache. He'd go get a massage when he was done. "He's gonna hurt like hell a couple of days. No serious damage." And he knew Doc agreed or Clay would be in surgery, not a bathtub.

"I flew over it." Doc reminded him. "Infection might set him back on his heels. Fever would put him down for a while. I'm gonna want a good look, but yeah, stitch him up, send him home - no falls out of a hammock, some PT, he'll bounce back."

Finally after his third bath, and being allowed to just soak in clean, hot water until his muscles went lax and the tension eased from his very bones, Doc and Trent deemed Clay clean - though Millie might not have, bless her soul, Trent thought with a chuckle - and he was allowed out of the water and taken to a room where he was given a sedative and Doc went to work.

Finally, he was settled in bed where he was made warm and comfortable. The medicine and pain meds finally combined and quelled his discomfort. The ice pack on his aching head reduced his confusion and lulled him to sleep and he was finally calm and content.

Until Trent tried to leave.

Left alone, he grew restless, kicked at the blankets, fussed with the oxygen mask, pulled at the IV, tried to flap the pulse oximeter right off his finger - why'd he even have that anyway?

Trent didn't complain when he was fetched a second time, simply sat in a chair, turned on the TV, searched for something in English, fell asleep with his feet up on the bed.

He'd get a massage later.


	8. Chapter 8

"Whatcha thinking about?" Ray asked, breaking the silence of a good ten minutes. "Talk to me."

They were sitting outside. They had showered and changed, had dinner. Sonny had remained in the barracks, Brock had gone off with Cerberus, Trent had been called to help Doc with an apparently cranky, unhappy Clay.

"Nate."

Ray did a double take. Wow. Hadn't expected that. "Uh, Nate? Kinda outta the blue."

"I thought we were the best unit out there. The six of us." Jason continued. "Biggest, baddest...best."

"We were." Ray confirmed, watched Jason shake his head. "We weren't?"

"You think so? No weak link?"

"No." Ray said firmly. "Don't do this Jason."

"I trusted Nate with my life."

"We all did." Ray stated. "And we weren't wrong."

"No." Jason agreed. "Hurt like hell when we lost him. But now? Now, I see what we were...uh, lacking. On a mission, we were all that mattered: tight, together, cohesive, operated as one. But at home? Nate was never that close to Sonny, was he? Or Brock." He snorted. "And Trent?"

Ray was quiet. Sonny didn't let anyone close. Brock and Trent were a match set. He and Jason were tight. That had pretty much left Nate on his own.

Jason stared up at the night sky, was quiet.

Nate had allowed Trent to tend injuries in the field when necessary, but when possible, he'd always waited until they returned to the base or quarters and sought a doctor. Jason had never really given it much thought before. It was just the way it was. Trent had never been offended, Sonny would rather Nate be somewhere else and Brock went with the flow.

But now? Pfft. Now they had Clay. And he didn't have a problem with Trent as the team's medic. Verbal confirmation wasn't required, the kid's actions were proof.

But with the arrival of Clay, had come the need for Doc, a full support team - well, Bravo had always had that, just hadn't always needed to take them everywhere they went - GPS tracking system...

"...Trent can be brutal Jay. You know that. It's why you wanted him. He keeps his head and doesn't care how much he hurts you to save your ass. He's cold and harsh…." Ray paused. And the best damn medic out there. "He doesn't have a problem with Clay, finds the kid a challenge."

Don't we all?

"That kid gets to everyone." Jason agreed. "And why is that? He argues with Sonny over experience. He questions my authority. He bucks your lead. He blatantly shows his dislike for Mandy. He butts heads with everyone." He scratched his beard. Except Brock...maybe Trent. Silence resumed, Jason finally broke it. "We didn't even see him in that room Ray. All that money on the means to track him and we..." He took a drink. "And we thought he was a fucking pile of trash. You know how that made me feel? I had to see how bad he was hurt, know what was wrong, couldn't leave him. All he was supposed to do was convince Atwal to leave."

"Don't do this Jay. Don't feel guilt, it's not on you, what happened." Ray'd been in that room too. He'd argued with Randy over where Clay was supposed to be.

"I wanted him with us." Jason admitted. "Once we lost him, I didn't even care about the mission, the information about Syria, I only wanted him back." He shook his head. "Can't do that."

"You wanted the information Atwal has."

"I wanted to come on this mission and because I trust him, I wanted him with us. I never know if an interpreter is honest or telling me everything."

"We all wanted him with us."

Jason was quiet, opened another beer. Ray waited. There was more.

"My Mom's all pissed he was at the house, that I left him alone with Emma, and there was a time, I never would have done that. Why'd I do that? Why, Ray? He's...What is it about him?"

Because, thought Ray, under that exterior cockiness and arrogance, the kid's lonely. Has lost everyone he attached to - either by death, break-up or emotional distance.

"It...it hurts Ray. He doesn't...I mean, he always...we...he's never turned away from me before. Usually, I want to slap that smirk off his face. Throw him into a wall. Man, he can piss me off." Jason set the bottle on the wall, wiped his hands down his face, fingertips lingering on his closed eyelids. "Then something like this happens and...it….it…it's like when the kids were little and I'd come home and they'd come running…Emma would just know I was going to pick her up and she'd cling so tight, I wouldn't have to hold her. She'd wrap her hands around my neck and sit on my hip...when he's hurt, he has that same trust Ray. That belief we'll make it all better, will help him, just by being with him and today….today…..he didn't respond to me and I don't want him to ever feel anything will break that trust, you know?"

Ray nodded, sat shoulder to shoulder with Jason, drinking beer on a decorative wall not made to sit on. His ass was numb, his legs tingled, yet there he sat.

"Hell...I mean, fuck Ray, he'll lay in your lap, let you hold him...he reaches for you and holds tight...looks up, sees you and it's like he knows everything will be okay because you're with him. He sees Trent and the relief on his face makes everything we went through to get him back, worth it."

"And now, he doesn't want us." Ray kicked his heels against the wall. Clay hadn't responded that way at all when they'd finally found him this time and it had thrown everyone. "He wants Brock." Well, Brock had been who Clay responded to this time. What would they do if the kid turned away from them? How would they handle it, if the kid decided to leave the team?

"What's with that shit?"

If Ray didn't know better, he'd swear Jason was pouting, but he did know better, didn't he?

"He flashing back to that room they were held in together?" Ray questioned. "Wasn't that long ago Jay. Brock was the only one of us there for him."

"With him." Jason corrected with a glare. "Dunno."

"Kid's had a tough year Jay. Don't matter how strong he is, he's been dealt some heavy blows and they just keep coming."

"He didn't want to come here."

"No one made him."

"Yeah, we kinda did." Jason now stared out into the dark night. "We get home, he's going on med leave."

"Kentucky?"

Jason snorted. "Fuck no. Not letting him out of my sight." He finished his beer. "I'll ask Blackburn to take us off rotation, should get a month home."

"Wait, what?"

"I didn't take any time after Alana died. I have leave coming."

"You took..." Ray began. The mission had come during Alana's funeral, for God's sake. No one blamed Jason for not spinning out with the rest of Bravo. Then, they'd lost Adam and Jason had gone on the next mission. "Wow, you're taking leave with him?"

"What, you don't want time home with the family?"

Ray'd had it, when he'd been unofficially, temporarily kicked off Bravo...and oh, Mandy wouldn't like it. Oh, wait. Jason had already had Blackburn 'send Mandy away'. Not that it had taken much to twist Eric's arm. He hadn't been happy with Mandy since Mexico. Maybe they did all need a break.

"I have a week Ray, that's all." He certainly couldn't claim bereavement leave after so much time had passed. "Think Trent's earned two."

"Jay, Brock said he was given twelve weeks."

"And after four, if he still wants to go to Kentucky, I might think about letting him go." Jason slid off the wall, tossed his empty bottles into a recycle bin. "I'm going in."

Ray shook his head. Just because Clay had been given twelve weeks, didn't mean he had to take all of them. Jason would succeed in obtaining Bravo leave for a week, grounded to base for a month, so yeah, once Bravo was back on rotation, Jason _might_ be okay if Clay went to visit family.

***000***

Clay blew his breath out, felt the moisture blow back on his face. Man, he hated oxygen masks. Hated them. Yeah, yeah, he knew what it was, didn't need to open his eyes or see a mirror or feel with his hand to know. And yeah, that meant he knew where he was. He wasn't happy about that either. He hated being in the hospital. You'd think he'd get used to it, accept it, given his job and all. But no. That was never going to happen.

He kicked at the blanket, feeling warm. His hand itched, skin drawn tight. Ugh. Knew that feeling. IV port and tape.

He felt a flash of irritation. It was Trent's job to keep him out of the hospital...bang up job there, Trent old buddy. He blew out another deep breath. No, that wasn't fair. Or true. It was Trent's job to keep Clay alive until his team got him to a hospital.

Well then, Trent _had_ done his job 'cause here Clay was; trussed up with needles and tubes and monitors and leads and oxygen and whatnot. Ugh.

He raised a hand to pull the mask from his face, but the pull of the IV tubing came up short and he let his hand fall back to the mattress. Fine, fine. He had two hands and his right was free, though for some reason, he just didn't want to move it. He tried, he could, but yeah, he was happy with that arm right where it was, tucked against his side, which now he had acknowledged it, began to stab him.

Ow.

Small, tiny, sharp repeated pokes that would not stop, increased in frequency, became downright painful. He squirmed, seeking relief from the, uh, discomfort. Huh, ow, wow. That was some serious stinging! Okay, yeah, right, he'd had enough.

Digging deep, calling on his training, he swiped the mask off his face, sat up, braced his feet against the mattress and reached for the IV in the back of his left hand. Oh yeah baby, his right hand worked just fine! He was getting the hell outta here.

"No, you don't."

His ankles were grabbed and he was pulled down the bed. It took only a one-handed shove on his shoulder and he was once again sprawled on his back. His hand was slapped, caught, returned to his side.

He growled in frustration. As fast as he'd been, Trent had been faster.

"Not a chance you're gonna beat me in your condition." Trent gave him a smarmy smirk. "You're not going anywhere until your heart rate is normal and you're breathing on your own."

"I don't need..." Clay began, winced when the oxygen mask mashed against his nose. He simply glared as Trent lifted his head and let the elastic band snap behind his ears.

"Yeah, you do."

"Aah, he's awake?" Doc popped out of nowhere, flashlight in hand. "Welcome back young Spenser. Relax, relax. Don't know how you continue to come out of these escapades like you do, but you sure do manage to escape serious injury." He paused. "Painful though, I bet."

Clay rolled his head on the pillow, snorted in disgust. Didn't feel like he'd escaped injury. And hell yeah, it was painful. His side and hip were trying to kill him - again.

"Head hurt?" Doc asked.

Well, now it did! Just had to go and call attention to it! Clay scowled as his head joined the attempt to end his life. Hell, working together with his side, they just might succeed.

"Helmet took a fatal blow." Trent said quietly. "Saved your life."

Clay shrugged, that meant nothing to him and he didn't care to try and figure it out. He tolerated thumbs prying his eyes open and the flashing light that split his skull from his skin. Holy Shit!

Training made him obey commands to look left, right, up, down, all around, follow the light. It caused him some discomfort, downright pain, but Doc was happy, finally made the light go away.

"Good, good." Doc nattered to himself. He pulled the mask away from Clay's mouth, asked him several questions. Clay was able to answer most accurately; his name, date of birth, who the president was, who Trent was; missed verifying where he was and what day it was but Doc was satisfied, replaced the mask.

"How you feeling?" Trent asked. "Not so good, I bet?"

Clay thought about it, shook his head. Trent was right, he felt awful.

"We fly home, you're admitted to the hospital." Doc informed him.

Clay squawked in protest, but really, he was too tired to put up much of a fight. He'd deal with it later, when they landed. No one could make him go to the hospital, he didn't want to go.

Yeah, oh Jason would have something to say about that.

"You're on several meds." Trent explained. "Pain med, antiemetic, antibiotic, steroid. Not sure what you might have swallowed. The asshat wasn't gentle or careful, packed mud and dirt deep into your side."

"Through muscle. You're gonna be sore awhile." Doc said. "You up to some visitors?"

No, Clay thought. He didn't want to see anyone until he could think and talk and follow a conversation.

"Just Jason." Trent could tell Clay's emotions were all over the place. "The guys can see him after he's had some sleep."

Clay nodded. He was okay with that.

He expected Jason to charge in, all orders and demands but Jason entered quietly, held to the bed rails of Clay's bed, said nothing.

"He's okay Jason." Trent said finally. "Bit out of it."

"This never should have happened."

"That's for another time." Doc said briskly. "He's responding well to the medication. I expect him to come off the oxygen within the next four hours. I'd say come morning, we can fly home. Or maybe tomorrow night. Those stitches need to stay tight this time. No hammock. Gonna need some PT, exercises to strengthen the muscle."

"Support will stay behind." Jason said. "Still helping with rescue and relief efforts."

Clay frowned. All he'd heard was stay behind. He mumbled behind the mask, became agitated.

"Not you." Trent pinched Clay's toes. "We're not leaving you behind. We're all flying home with you."

Clay nodded, relaxed. His eyes closed, ready to go to sleep.

"You're done. Someone is going to listen to me." Doc announced. "He's done. Whether he wants it or not, whether you agree to it or not, he's on med leave."

"He is?" Jason looked up, but didn't look mad. Doc hadn't expected that.

"I am?" Clay muffed, eyes widening then falling closed.

"I'll see him again four weeks after he's released from the hospital." Doc was typing on a laptop. Oh-oh. So, not Clay's med file. That was on Doc's clipboard. "It's uploaded, it's sent. McCall will get an email. Officer-Operator Spenser, you're off Bravo's rotation."

Clay didn't know how he felt about that.

"Twelve weeks?" Jason asked.

"Sure." Doc agreed.

Clay reached for the mask. Trent sighed, smacked his hand away.

"Doesn't have to be twelve weeks. See Doc in four and we'll go from there." Trent told him.

"Blackburn can ground us for four weeks. I have a week's leave, can take it when he's released from the hospital." Jason told Trent. "You can have two, you've earned it. We go back on rotation, we'll send him off to his aunt's."

Trent nodded. "Or Janine will keep him."

Hey, right here! Clay thought drowsily. Bravo grounded meant they'd be home, but go to work on base. Clay would be on med leave, but PT would be on base, and work-outs could be with his team. Sounded like a plan to him.

() () ()

Clay came awake, moving uneasily at a cramp in his hip. The IV meds kept his pain muted but he wasn't comfortable. His head hurt, his hip hurt, he was sweaty, his right side was hot and puffy and he swore he could feel the swelling.

He couldn't of course, but yeah, sure as hell felt like he did.

Off oxygen and breathing on his own, his throat was dry, swallowing hurt and he wanted...

"Hey."

The spoon of desired ice nudged his lips and what he wanted was provided upon the mere thought. His tongue darted out in seek of the moisture before he could tell it to stop...that was a mighty husky 'hey' and the nurse was all spice and everything nice.

Maybe it was Doc? Clay swallowed with a wince, wiped the trace of pain from his face, opened one eye. His beard had been trimmed, why he didn't know but he knew one of the reasons he kept it bushy and unkempt was because without it, he looked sixteen.

And his facial expressions were too easily read.

"More?"

Brock.

Clay sighed. What the hell, why fight it? It wasn't Sonny, who would tease him for life, so he let his friggin' teammate feed him frozen slivers of 7Up off a plastic spoon because he was thirsty and his throat hurt and...he was _that_ fucking miserable.

Brock patiently spooned ice slivers until Clay finally had enough. Good thing too, because Brock would have to go get more, there was only a spoon or two left.

"You with me?" Brock asked quietly. "Thought you'd be asleep."

Trent had returned to barracks and told his teammates that Clay was fine: concussion, no brain injury; internal stitches, no serious damage; he was medicated, would sleep until morning and had gone to bed.

"Hey." Clay croaked. "Kinda...late, isn't it?"

Brock gave him a sympathetic smile. Kid's throat must still hurt. Well, of course it did. It's why he wanted the ice - it was cold and felt good.

"You doing okay?"

"I've felt better." Clay admitted.

"Concussion, ether, turpentine." Brock waggled three fingers. "What is it with you?"

"I in trouble?" Though, he kinda thought maybe if he were, it would be Jason here and the Boss wouldn't be patient about giving Clay ice chips.

"For what?"

Clay shrugged. Someone would find something to yell at him for. "Dunno. Don't remember much after hitting the rocks."

"Trent's pissed but not at you. He hates medical care over here and Ray's sympathetic to it. Mandy, uh, left the country. He was pretty hot over the wife and kid. Sonny's pissed over the lack of weather information. Had we known about the recent rain or the sudden family, we would have made different plans." Brock pulled at the blanket, Clay didn't stop him, let him pull it away, move his gown aside "None of us wanted anything to do with this mission until she played Jason with information on Syria. Swelling's gone down. Must feel better."

Clay was quiet, played with the IV tube until Brock smacked his hand away. Yeah, no, really didn't feel any better at all.

"Kinda sucks, you know? You speak the language but weren't in any condition to walk away before they could, uh, treat you." Torture came to mind, but he didn't say it.

"But you had to come get me." Clay bit his lip, shifted his weight. He pretty much ached everywhere, the hours he'd spent struggling to breathe had left his chest and sides sore from the effort.

"And?" Brock prompted. Oh, if only the kid knew what they'd gone through to find him, get him back. "We don't run Clay, we don't back down. No matter what anyone says." He was quiet, moved the tubing out of Clay's reach. "Just, one thing," he grinned. "Remember I told you, stay put, we'll find you, come get you?"

Clay nodded, broke out in a fresh seat, his side began to throb. He was reluctant to ask for more pain meds, scared of becoming dependent on them. He took them so often anymore, it wouldn't be hard to become addicted. He sighed, would have to talk to Doc about it.

"Next time..." And there would be a next time. "Get yourself somewhere safe first, okay?" Brock picked up the nearly empty cup. "I'll get you some more."

"Could you..." he hesitated, hated asking his team to do something for him. He remembered going by truck and hiking to the village because air hadn't been cleared, yet remembered being in a chopper. That had probably cost Blackburn one hell of a compromise. "I don't remember where I was or how I got there." He finished lamely.

"What do you need?" Brock demanded, ignored Clay's attempt to deflect he wanted something. "Talk to me, don't shut me out."

"These ice packs aren't cold anymore." Clay wouldn't look at him.

Brock took them and with a squeeze to Clay's knee, left the room and went in search of a nurse or medic.

"Hi there." She greeted. "New ice packs huh? More 7Up?"

"How's he doing?" Brock followed her, watched her remove an ice tray from the freezer, smack the frozen 7Up ice cubes with a small hammer, wondered how she knew Clay liked fizz and flavored ice. Didn't matter.

"Aah, vitals are good, breathing on his own, low-grade fever, pain's manageable. Bit restless though, doesn't sleep well." She poured 7Up into the ice tray, put it back in the freezer. "He doesn't like being here but knows he's in no condition to leave."

Brock recalled Katie fussing Clay only slept good when Brock was home. Uh, maybe she hadn't been imagining things after all.

"It okay, I stay a while? See if he settles down any?"

"Sure. I'll be in every half hour or so. Stay as long as you like."

"Thanks." Brock took the cup of ice, the two cold packs and returned to Clay's room. Wondered why, no matter how big a man was, he looked small and fragile in a hospital bed. "Here you go." He set the cup on the table, pushed the blanket aside, laid an ice pack over the bandage wrapped completely around Clay's stomach. "They sure have you trussed up. Here?" He moved the ice pack around until Clay nodded he'd hit the right spot.

"Yeah, thanks." He squirmed, blushed. "Uh, I had a pillow...under my hip..."

"Right here, you squirm too much, lift your ass." Brock fluffed the pillow. "Good?" Clay nodded, relaxed. "You up to talking?"

"About?"

Brock pulled up a chair, sat down. Clay was tired, fighting sleep, so he'd be quick.

"I'm sorry."

Clay blinked, held the second ice pack to his attacking head. Man, his skull really wanted out. "For what?" The cold compress would eventually wrestle his head into submission. Maybe then he could get some sleep.

"Talking you into coming on this mission."

"You didn't. I made my own decision."

"Maybe. Just..." It was too early for this conversation, but it was killing Brock not knowing. "Trent said Doc's gonna admit you." Clay nodded, he was still wasn't on board with that plan even if Trent and Jason were. "But you have your twelve weeks of med leave, you want them. Do you?"

Clay was quiet. "I'm coming back Brock."

"Not leaving the team?"

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

"Wanna come home with me after they release you?"

His throat soothed, the ice packs subduing the throbbing in his head and side, Clay was half asleep.

"'K." He muttered.

Satisfied, Brock turned the chair, found the remote - not that hard at all, it was on a leash for God's sake - switched the TV on and got as comfortable as he could in the not-made-for-comfort chair.

If staying a while ensured Clay would get some sleep, he'd suffer through bad TV, a numb butt, cramped thighs without too much complaining.

***000***

Sonny finished his third beer, eyed his fourth. He wanted - needed - whiskey but Jason had vetoed hard liquor for everyone. Yeah, the flight home from Jordan - Hell - had been that hard.

Tempers had been sort, moods pissy. Trent hadn't yet made up with Ray and Sonny still wasn't any too happy with Trent. Brock had been subdued, Jason distant.

Yeah, they'd all pretty much avoided each other.

Clay had been unsettled, in pain, unable to sleep, forbidden to get up and walk, which was all he'd wanted to do. Doc had put him back on oxygen, increased his pain meds, administered a sedative, but nothing had helped the kid settle down and by the time they'd landed, everyone had been on edge.

Clay settled in the hospital, Eric had ordered everyone home...and now, a good day or so later, they had met up to discuss what they were going to do once Clay was released and on med leave.

It wasn't going well.

"HAYES!"

Everyone turned, looked, but didn't get up. Members of Support were among the crowd, began to group near the table where Bravo sat, drinking beers and hashing out their issues with one another.

"A word with you." Ash Spenser pushed through the throng of people crowding the bar. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Jason sighed, put his beer down, sat forward, bottle cupped between his hands, elbows on the table. "Spenser." Oh yeah, he'd known this was coming.

"You're gonna bar me from the hospital? You?" Oh, Ash was seething. Having found out that his son had returned from a mission injured badly enough, he'd been hospitalized, he'd rushed to the hospital, only to be told visitors to Special Warfare Operator Clay Spenser were restricted by the orders of Master Chief Jason Hayes. When the words: Sorry sir, your name isn't on the list and you aren't granted admittance had caused him to rant he was the boy's father; security had 'politely' escorted him out of the hospital. "If I want to see my son, I will. You're not going to stop me."

"I already did." Jason replied calmly. "Long as that kid's in the hospital, you're not getting near him."

"You're not barred from the hospital." Eric added disdainfully. "Just the 7th floor."

"Drama Queen, much?" Sonny muttered into this mug.

"You have no right to keep me from seeing my son."

"He doesn't want to see you." Jason said. "He calls you when he's home, then you can go see him."

"This is a battle you really don't want." Ash threatened. "You have no idea how loyal my boy is."

Guffaws sounded around the table, beer bottles and mugs tinked together in a toast. _**They** didn't know how loyal Clay was!? Bahwahhah! _ The kid was in the hospital because he'd saved a dog, then went on a mission he never should have left for, chose to ensure a kids safety over his own and allowed himself to be caught in a mudslide.

"Oh, it's a fight I'm looking forward to." Jason said softly.

"Yeah, well, you know what Hayes? You like your career too much. You're not gonna come after me. You wouldn't blow it. I know you."

Jason curled one side of his mouth in a sneer, pushed to his feet, stalked closer to Ash. "You know me? I ever choose to put you down, you're not gonna know I'm coming. I'm not gonna confront you in a public place of your choice. I'm a hot-head, but I'm not stupid." He leaned closer, now nose to nose with his rookie's father. "I know how to find you anywhere, anytime. I'm only going to say this once: Leave that kid alone. Stay away from him. There's not a man here who won't make you regret coming near him again."

"Is that a threat?"

"A threat, a promise, a vow."

"Yeah, okay, time to go Jay." Ray stood up, slid an arm around Jason's stomach, pushed him back a step. "Come on."

"You going to let him get away with that?" Ash asked Eric who simply pursed his lips, stared him down, didn't even get to his feet.

"Eric has a hearing problem." Trent spoke up.

Ash blinked, turning to look at the medic. Oh, he knew who every member of Bravo was, what they did, their position. They neither scared nor intimidated him, but calling their Lieutenant Commander by his first name knocked him for a loop. Wow.

"What's the matter Ash?" Sonny drawled, fingers tightening around the handle of his heavy mug. Oh, it would make a mighty fine weapon, were he to swing the heavy, thick glass at the asshole's head. "Your son find something you never had?" He smirked when Ash looked confused. "You know, a unit that has his back? Anyone from yours still talk to you?"

"You won't succeed in keeping me away from him." Ash stated. "I am his father, he will not cut me out of his life."

"He's gonna be okay, nice of you to ask how he's doing." Trent smirked. "And if you think you're gonna badger him about family loyalty and respect a son owes his old man while he's down, good luck with that." Down = emotionally vulnerable. Yeah, Ash got the message.

Ash flushed in anger. He'd meant to ask how Clay was, what his injuries were, how serious it was, but one look at Jason's mocking face and Ash had wanted to punch him.

"Time for you to leave." Eric said, commanded. "You're not welcome here."

"It's a public place." Ash responded. "When is he being released?"

"No idea." Jason said flippantly. "Ain't the doc."

"I'll catch up with him at his apartment." Ash turned to leave.

"Yeah," Brock chortled. "You do that."

That wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Ash clenched his fists but continued to walk away. So, they were determined to keep him away from his son until Clay was back on his feet.

He'd just see about that.

***END***


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